


Bag of Dreams

by colorflames



Series: Held Him Captive in a Kiss [5]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Drinking, Europe, Friendship, Heist, M/M, Painting, Rebels, Road Trips, Romance, Smoking, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 07:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17039459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorflames/pseuds/colorflames
Summary: Seungcheol’s life is hell. He’s stuck at a boarding school he hates, he’s angry all the time, and he suffers from temporary amnesia. But it all turns one-eighty when a dashing Jeonghan kidnaps his ass and drags him all around Europe for an adventure with a purpose.





	Bag of Dreams

There was a certain, singular young man, seemingly in his late twenties, who always sat at the farthest corner in a bar named Stowaway.

He always sat stiffly on his chair. His arms were propped up against the table.

It had daffodils, packs of cigarettes, Polaroid snapshots, champagne in a soda can, and a ribbon-tied empty green bag sprawled on it.

At every 3:27 A.M., he cried.

 

* * *

 

“Good afternoon, Seungcheol. How are you feeling today?”

Seungcheol squirmed in his seat. He always does that whenever Sister Katherine asks him that question.

“Fine.”

The elderly woman’s pale lips stretched into a warm but distant smile, her frail fingers thumbing through the yellowed pages of her notebook. “Anything special occurred today?”

Seungcheol pretended to think. “I spilled paint all over Tommy’s lab coat during science. And after that I _accidentally_ released a few frogs. Then Margareta—”

“ _Sister_ Margareta,” she cut off sharply.

“Yes, Sister Margareta—she told me to stand on the field for two hours as punishment. But then after I was done I made Jason slip and he broke his nose, so another two hours for me.”

Sister Katherine shook her head. “I guess the meanings of the words ‘special’ and ‘troublesome’ are all the same to you.”

Seungcheol shrugged lazily. “Nothing really special could ever happen here anyway. I was just… shaking things up.”

“Indirect insult towards the institution.” She immediately scribbled the words onto her notebook, clucking her tongue distastefully, and Seungcheol wanted to punch himself. “I’ll make sure you include that in your list of committed sins for next week’s confession.”

“That’s not even a sin!” Seungcheol raised his voice. “You wouldn’t even believe what the other boys even _say_ about you sisters behind your backs—”

Sister Katherine slammed her fountain pen on the wooden table. “Are you telling me how to do my job and that my fellow sisters and I are incompetent?”

He let out a frustrated groan, just as the ancient-looking black telephone on the table broke out into a frenzy ringing.

Still keeping her fierce glare at him, Sister Katherine picked it up. “Katherine. Yes. Mm-hm. Are you sure? I’ll be on my way.”

She settled the receiver back in place while heaving a sigh. Seungcheol thought that anyone looks older and more stressful whenever they sigh, and that includes Sister Katherine. Her pale face would drop in distress, the wrinkles cut into her skin deepening, her glasses-framed eyes a perfect description of eerie sadness. Seungcheol had never seen anyone with more evident weight on their shoulders than Sister Katherine, and that made him pity her. But that didn’t mean he tried to help—the perpetual, irksome havocs he made were unbelievably ironic.

“Something is up at the chapel,” she announced, separating him from his thoughts, “and my assistance is required. I hope that it isn’t something of your doing.”

“I guess you’ll find out,” Seungcheol replied airily with a small smirk that he knew she despised. “And do take your time, Sister. It’s our last session anyway.”

Her glare only intensified, but Seungcheol brushed it off as she strode past him and out of her office. When the door swung shut, he breathed in relief.

“That damned woman,” he muttered under his breath, fully noticing the silver cross standing on the table in front of him.

He stood up from the leather chair to open the paneled windows, something Sister Katherine never did. Streams of sunlight bathed the stifling office, and Seungcheol decided to work his way through all the windows until the room was shimmering with summer. Smiling proudly to himself, he walked around, sweeping his fingers through timeworn documents and thick Bibles and multicolored rosary beads and velvet furniture and lastly, the yellowed notebook.

He seated himself on Sister Katherine’s chair and stretched his legs on the table. Neat, loopy handwriting greeted him once he flicked the pages in slow motion. The very first page contained her notes for their very first session, when Sister Katherine had thought that Seungcheol was just an innocent, frightened teenage boy, shipped straight here to Newcastle upon Tyne after three months at the hospital, nursing blisters and stuttered words and nightmares.

Ah, the good old days.

He already read the notebook multiple times, but there was always something about it that he couldn’t just put down. Sister Katherine’s own disdain towards him were seeping more through the words and staining the pages as Seungcheol progressed forward, and he spotted “hidden worries” and “distant parents” and “lack of anger-expressing medias” and that was when he grew sick.

Closing the notebook and his eyes, he threw his head back against the seat, picturing the blood on Jason’s nose and the blazing heat and the sisters’ frowns and waking up at the hospital for the first time.

Slumber snatched him halfway, but it was momentary due to Sister Katherine barging in and yelling in his ear about the curse words carved on the second pew and him skittering out of the office, adrenaline-rushed and panic-stricken and overjoyed.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol tossed and turned against what felt like stacks of bricks. He drew the thin sheet of blanket up to his chin, but it didn’t stand a chance to protect him against the nipping cold. His teeth chattered, his toes trembled, and his droopy eyes were so close to surrendering to sleep, but the overpowering stench of sewer water prevented him to do just so. Everything was plain dark and disgusting, and the only thing that was able to distract him was the moon and the night sky beyond the tiny window on the upper wall, through which the scarce moonlights dove in.

“The underground bedroom,” he repeated Sister Clarence’s words out loud, for no one could hear him anyway, “is where all the school delinquents go for whatever uncomfortable trouble they cause for Reverend Mother, the sisters, and the students. Duration of stay depends on level of trouble.”

He got a two-week stay—record breaking, jaw dropping, parents calling.

He grunted and turned to his side. Two weeks sleeping here, every night, and then he would be out. Long months of summer, free from dingy rooms and black-clad nuns and suffocating lessons. It would all be over.

His parents had scolded him for a complete half an hour on the phone. They had promised to pick him up on the last day of school, but they rescheduled for five days afterwards so that Seungcheol could complete his two-week punishment. And as if _that_ wasn’t enough, Sister Katherine had forcefully yanked the phone from him and informed them that Seungcheol will need more therapy sessions with her next term due to the ones this year being ineffective.

So much for the liberating last weeks of school.

Seungcheol could barely sleep at night, and when he did, it was always when dawn had descended. He knew he would get more torture if he complained, so he kept his mouth shut and went on with it. His classmates had long stopped throwing him comical laughs and insensitive jokes after he perfected his icy glare, and the sisters were amazed at his silent demeanor, mistaking it for improvement instead of hatred.

Time crawled slowly and it finally reached the evening before the official last day of school—though not for him. He paced around the dusty room in spite of the wall clock reading midnight. Should he hack some diabolical plan for revenge? He would have to do everything solo, though—too late to contact his friends and brainstorm ideas with them. It would have to be memorable also, so that everyone could analyze it over the summer and gossip about it at the start of next year… but that would have to be paid by severe trial by the sisters until his parents picked him up.

Would that be worth it?

He was in the middle of pondering when a knock was heard.

It wasn’t on the door.

A knock became a series of knocks, and its volume increased—urgent, hurried.

Seungcheol looked up.

Behind the tiny glass window, there was a man’s face.

He screamed.

A finger was drawn in front of the stranger’s lips, signaling for him to be quiet, but Seungcheol shook his head vigorously and backed up towards the door. His fingers managed to grasp around the knob and he gave it a trembling tug, but it won’t budge. A flash of remembrance: he was locked in and it wasn’t until the morning that a sister would come with the key.

Fuck.

During his blind panic, the stranger had somehow managed to silently punch his fist through the glass and jump through the crack that could barely fit him, landing smoothly on the ground afterwards. He was disturbingly thin, his figure clothed in all-black sweater, jeans, and shoes. Seungcheol’s first guess was a thief, but he didn’t bother to hide his face with a mask or tuck his long, silver hair in a cap.

Seungcheol gulped. “W-Who are—”

“Shush,” the man interjected, his voice soft and alert. He locked his eyes with Seungcheol’s, and the latter curled his brows in confusion.

He swore he’d never seen that person before, but there was something familiar and at the same time, not.

It was surprising, but not… strange.

He must have been an easy read, because the young man emitted a chuckle. “I knew you haven’t completely forgotten about me,” he sang-song, making his way towards the door. Seungcheol instinctively stepped to the side, not wanting any close proximity. The stranger visibly rolled his eyes as he kneeled and grabbed a few hairpins from his pocket. He proceeded to bend one of them and insert it into the lock, turning it methodically between his fingers.

Seungcheol blinked. “What are you—how did you—”

“Do you want to get out or not?” the stranger grumbled, not detaching his focus from the task at hand.

“Well yes, but I barely know you and—”

“You hit your head real hard, didn’t you?”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“The accident,” he casually replied. “Don’t you have anything to pack?”

Seungcheol darted his gaze around. The rest of his things were upstairs. “Probably just this pajama,” he said, tugging the fabric of his sleeve.

“Charming.” There was a faint click and the stranger stood up before swinging the door open. “Now,” he whispered to Seungcheol, “we have to be quick and quiet if we want to get out of here. Whatever happens, just do what I say. Okay?”

“But I don’t know you,” Seungcheol whispered back, raising a brow.

“Free salvation or rotting here for the next few days.” The stranger shrugged. “Choice’s all yours.”

With that, he exited the room, and it didn’t take Seungcheol long enough to tail behind him.

 

* * *

 

“Why are we going up?”

The winding staircase leading to the main landing was laden with their hasty footsteps, feet against concrete. By this time, Seungcheol was out of breath—he was at least six steps behind, panting and cursing his way up. On the other hand, the stranger was extremely fit: he went on a steady pace, his elbows tucked in and his knees bobbing up and down the steps, not a single breathless gasp to be heard.

“I want to grab something,” the stranger answered. “Besides, I doubt you can jump high enough through that window.”

Seungcheol frowned at the insult, but he didn’t fire a counterattack. He really couldn’t jump that high.

After another long seven minutes, they arrived at the landing, the lights dim and the place deserted. Before Seungcheol had the chance to catch his breath, the stranger inquired, “Do they have patrols at night?”

“Over—midnight—must be—done—” He gripped the red wall beside him for support, sweat trickling down his nape.

“Still, we couldn’t risk it,” the stranger mumbled before tapping Seungcheol on his shoulder. “Come on, slowpokes. We haven’t got much time.”

The two jogged along the corridor, the stranger excitedly and Seungcheol exhaustedly. The latter didn’t know where they were going, and it slowly dawned on him that he was following a creepy, silky-haired intruder and he was in his pajamas and he was so sleepy it was frustrating and they were trotting to fuck knows where and he was putting everything on the line.

“Who are you?” he questioned. “What’s your name?”

“Quick and quiet,” the stranger remarked in an irritated tone. “You’re failing both.”

“It was just a question—well, two, exactly—”

The stranger abruptly stopped in his tracks, his eyes glued on the door to their right. He opened it without much force and glided in. Seungcheol followed, gripping the doorknob for support yet again while he watched him dragging open cabinets and browsing through folders and files stored inside.

“The archives?” he huffed. “What could you possibly be looking for in the _archives?”_

“Shut up and guard the door,” the stranger ordered, but Seungcheol didn’t budge.

“Look, Mister, if you thought that I’d be willingly to do your whole bidding for the rest of the night, forget it, because—”

“Aha!”

A wide grin was plastered on the stranger’s face, his fingers digging into a cabinet and withdrawing a white folder. “Found it.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “Then let’s get out of here!”

He snapped all cabinets close and dashed out of the room, slipping his fingers around Seungcheol’s wrist as he went. They were long and hot and cold at the same time, and Seungcheol let himself be pulled through another string of corridors. It was rather nice, he was sweaty and tired but they were getting out—

Suddenly, an alarm blasted, its annoying noise reverberating through the walls. The stranger shrieked and he quickened his pace, causing Seungcheol to reluctantly match his steps with him also.

“Shit, shit, shit,” the stranger breathed out, his hold around Seungcheol’s wrist tightening. “You didn’t tell me they have alarms!”

“You didn’t ask!” Seungcheol shot disbelievingly.

Moments later, faint female voices were heard. Seungcheol mouthed multiple cursing—he ran out of breath to give them a voice—and the stranger talked what was in his mind.

“The nuns. The fucking nuns. Perfect timing.”

“They have tracking dogs, too,” Seungcheol added unhelpfully.

“Let’s hope we’re miles away when they’re unleashed,” he said. “Run, okay? I need you to run. _Now!”_

Seungcheol was too busy immersing himself in his worst-case scenarios during the entire conversation, and when his bare feet splashed against the wet grass, it hit him that they were already outside. He parted his lips and inhaled the cold night air, dashing through the seemingly endless yard. There were only trees and bushes ahead of them—where would they—

“There!”

The instant Sister Katherine’s scream touched his ears, Seungcheol began running as fast as he could.

“There! They’re right there! Is that—Seungcheol! _Seungcheol, stop!”_

He didn’t. He kept running and running with adrenaline pumping through his veins and _oh shit oh fucking shit_ through his mind and the next thing he knew, he had caught up with the stranger and he was shoved into the bushes, twigs and leafs ruthlessly batting his eyes and cheeks, until he hurled himself forward to a clearing, his skin prickling with blood and the sleeves of his pajama torn.

“God, that wasn’t smooth,” the stranger uttered behind him, and he helped Seungcheol to his feet, albeit harshly. Seungcheol almost tumbled back to the ground, but the stranger was surprisingly strong despite his lean figure. “Where’s that little shit—hey, over here!”

A bright pink VW Kombi materialized in front of them in an instant, a refreshing contrast to the black, murky backdrop of the forest behind it. The stranger heaved the back door open and pushed Seungcheol inside almost immediately, just when the distant barking of dogs were heard.

Seungcheol dropped to his knees once he was inside, his face flat against the floor of the car. He closed his eyes, feeling his every bone crack with fatigue and lethargy and overall pain, air pumped out of his lungs. Was it over? Were they safe?

“Fucking shit,” said the stranger, and Seungcheol heard the door was shut. “What are you waiting for? Step on it, Junhui!”

The Kombi hitched forward and rolled against the bumpy road, rocks and pebbles noisily grinding below them. Seungcheol groaned when the lurching car caused his chin to snap against the metal floor, but it was muffled by the sound of the conversation between the savior and the unseen driver.

“What took you so long? I was practically rotting over at the sycamores—”

“I forgot it’s almost been a year, he’s not as athletic as he used to be—”

 “He almost risked our _fucking lives!_ Don’t you know he’s different now? Is he seriously worth it, Jeonghan?”

Thankfully, Seungcheol faded into a blissful black, but his ears caught the last, determined words.

“He is. I know he is.”

 

* * *

 

Water was directly splashed to his face, and that was when Seungcheol shot his eyes open.

“He’s here.”

Seungcheol spit the droplets out of his mouth and instantly straightened his spine, causing his head to throb uncomfortably. Disorientation hung over him, but he emerged out of it in no time. How long was he knocked out? Where were they now?

“Easy there, big guy.”

He lifted his gaze up. A brown-haired young man, presumably at the same age as himself, was sitting cross-legged next to him, an empty water bottle in his hand. He gave a small smile and wiped his fingertips on the stretch of his pants before handing him a napkin. “Take your time. You took it real hard.”

Seungcheol absentmindedly nodded, receiving the napkin without much thought and brushing it over his wet face. They were still in the car, but it was a different time: the sky outside the window was borderline pink and red and orange, the moon declining behind the misty fogs.

“Where are we?” he groggily muttered.

“London,” the other man answered. “Safe and sound. You’ve been out for five hours. Now, do you want anything to eat? Jam? Crackers? Although they’re a bit stale, I think I got the one past expiration…”

Seungcheol shook his head. “No thanks. I’m good,” he said, despite his stomach rumbling with immediate hunger.

“Is he awake?”

The door slid open and Jeonghan’s head popped through. His silver hair was now tied into a ponytail, and he donned a different outfit: a crisp button-down and brown khakis. Seungcheol furrowed his brows. Did he really faint for five hours?

“He is,” the other man said. “Now, we can follow the schedule.”

“Schedule?” Seungcheol repeated, uncertain.

Jeonghan broke a smile to the other man, ignoring him. “Thanks, Junhui. We owe you a lot. Now get out. Let him have his space.” He turned to Seungcheol, the smile still playing on his lips, if not wider. “Change to the clothes and shoes over there on the seat. Come out when you’re done.”

Jeonghan disappeared, and Junhui wordlessly followed, clicking the door shut behind him. It took Seungcheol a few minutes to register what the words meant and enact them. When he did, he gradually realized that he was not supposed to be here.

He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in a messy Kombi that smelled strongly like marijuana and being bossed around by good-looking strangers in London. London! Miles away from Newcastle upon Tyne, where he was supposed to be, where he _belonged_.

But Seungcheol was never the one to follow rules, anyway.

With much gusto than necessary, he peeled off his pajama and exchanged them for a dark blue sweater and black sneakers and grey khakis, which was a little tight around the hips and hard to zip. But other than that, it was alright. He found out that someone—maybe Jeonghan, maybe Junhui, maybe both—had dressed his wounds when he trailed his fingers along his cheeks. Perhaps he looked okay? He didn’t know. The rearview mirror was cracked and broken.

He stepped out of the car when he finished fumbling with his sleeves. The cold breeze whipped at his face, but he disregarded it and walked towards the two other men, who were struggling to light the cigarettes they had in between their fingers.

“Can I—”

Jeonghan already thrust him a stick before Seungcheol could finish the sentence. Junhui carefully lighted all three, and soon they were taking peaceful drags of smoke, the rings quickly vanishing as soon as they turned up.

Seungcheol turned around and cemented his other hand in his pants’ pocket. Behind the parked pink car, a hubbub was packing the roads, despite the early hours of morning. There were lines of still-closed shops and desolate houses as far as his eyes could see, but the most striking one was a grand structure of brown, green, and orange that he managed to identify as St. Pancras Railway Station.

“Does this seem familiar to you, Seungcheol?” Junhui destroyed the silence after Seungcheol’s seventh drag.

He flinched at the sound of his own name being said. “No. I don’t think so. I’ve never been to London before.”

Junhui scoffed. “Sure you have.”

Seungcheol furrowed his brows. Jeonghan straightened it out for him.

“You just haven’t remembered.”

Haven’t remembered? “How—how did you know about my accident?” he blurted out in surprise.

Junhui impatiently rolled his eyes and dropped his cigarette to the ground. “We know you. Well, used to.”

“You’re the one who insisted he takes his time,” Jeonghan remarked rather accusingly at him. “He just woke up. Leave him alone.”

Junhui gave another scoff, rubbing the tip of his sneakers against the stub. “Fine, fine. Anyway—nice to see you again, bro.” He curved up a small but sincere smile towards Seungcheol and pulled him in a tight, brief hug. “Man. Wish I could come with you both but I don’t want to ruin the honeymoon.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened and Jeonghan hit Junhui squarely on the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Jeonghan hissed before he swung open the passenger door and took a black backpack out. “We better go now or we’ll miss the train. Don’t forget to tell everyone, okay?”’

Junhui nodded solemnly and ushered them to leave. Jeonghan circled his fingers on Seungcheol’s wrist and pulled him towards the congregated road.

“Tell everyone?” Seungcheol asked once Junhui was out of earshot. “What do you mean by that?”

 “It’s complicated,” Jeonghan briskly replied. “I’d rather not talk about it now.”

“You have to. You just practically dragged my ass from Newcastle to London and you’re a complete stranger to me.”

Jeonghan’s entire body instantly stiffened. Seungcheol was about to backtrack his words when he turned around on his heels and locked their gazes together, the corners of his eyes brimming with tears.

“A complete stranger?” Jeonghan choked, and then he wrapped his arms tightly around Seungcheol’s neck, inviting the latter’s gasp.

“W-What are you doing?!”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for the last nine months,” he whispered on his skin, burying his cheeks on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

Seungcheol gulped. They were two young, cigarette-biting men hugging in the middle of a congregated London street and he wasn’t sure if that was something comfortable for everyone to see. “Look, you have to—”

Jeonghan’s arms snaked away just as quickly as they had come. “I knew you weren’t coming around that easily.” He brushed a finger against his eyes and spun around, striding in to the station, pursued by a baffled Seungcheol.

The contents of the backpack hanging on Jeonghan’s shoulders turned out to be the folder he had stolen from school and a plethora of fake ID cards. Seungcheol recognized his own picture on several pieces when he boldly took a peek. “Is that the picture from my school database?”

“Yep,” Jeonghan confirmed, his fingers rummaging through the cards. “We stopped by at Junhui’s studio for the retouch-ups.” He tapped a finger on the folder and Seungcheol realized that the folder bore his own name.

“That was why you went to the archives? To get my picture for some ID cards?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “And another reason,” he replied mysteriously.

They walked through the vast station, accompanied by Seungcheol’s endless questions and Jeonghan’s short, wavering remarks. By the time that Seungcheol sensed the constant firings of inquiry were stressing Jeonghan out, the latter had walked away from him.

Twenty steps were the measure of the distance stretched between them as they crossed every aisle of the station, but no one, including Seungcheol, could miss the long-haired man’s shaking shoulders and quivering legs, even from afar.

 

* * *

 

The train ride lasted for two short, silent hours, in which the two of them quietly smoked, trading fresh packs of cigarettes across the aluminum table. Jeonghan never ascended his glance to Seungcheol’s eyes, as if the very simple act could break the patch of silence standing between them. _Which could_ , Seungcheol spoke in his mind. He needed answers and Jeonghan wasn’t giving them. Sooner or later, the words would have to find a way out, wouldn’t they?

He had never taken a moment to stop and completely observe Jeonghan, until now: his pale face, framed with rebellious silver strands; his attentive brown orbs, always on the lookout whenever someone passed by their seats; his long, thin fingers tapping a random rhythm against his thigh; his pink lips and hollowing cheeks, nicotine-tasting tongue and Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Seungcheol gazed at him, at this familiarly unfamiliar sight, and wondered if the memories were just sitting there, waiting to be discovered.

When they stepped on French soil, Jeonghan seemed to have recovered from whatever trance he was in. He pushed back his shoulders and wrung the tie off his hair, letting it cascade down his upper back. “Okay,” he tentatively said through his drags. “Just—follow me.”

The two strode out of Gare du Nord and threw out their cigs and Jeonghan led the way, weaving through back alleys and hidden paths and jumping over hedges. Another mute journey, but Seungcheol sensed that the answers were inching closer towards him, perhaps in need of a jolt to free them entirely of their restraints, but he knew could keep his impatience at bay. For a while.

Countless moments later, he found himself following Jeonghan into a thick forest, where it was nothing but falling leaves, barks of trees, and stranded branches on the ground. Seungcheol was never an outdoor person—he winced every time his toes slipped on the hard soil, and scraps were engraved on his fingertips whenever he held the trees for support.

The sun was suspended high in the sky when the thick trees paved the way for a small clearing. There was nothing in it save a beige-and-red VW Kombi sitting on the edge. Seungcheol bit his lips in doubt as they stood next to it, before Jeonghan opened the passenger door, revealing a very messy, dusty space inside.

“You didn’t lock the door?” was the first question that came in his mind.

Jeonghan chuckled. “Nobody will ever find this place, so I don’t bother. Get in.”

Seungcheol reluctantly climbed in. The smell of filth and rotten food welcomed him, originating from takeout cartons that Jeonghan immediately disposed afterwards. The metal floor was entirely draped with a thin sheet of fabric, and the three car seats that were supposed to be placed in sequence were instead backed up against the grey walls, numerous junks and clothes and memorabilia spilled all over the black leather and tumbling onto the floor. A hammock with a few cushions was rocking gently above the seats, its ends clumsily nailed on the ceiling soffit. Specks of dust were covering the cracked windows, the blinds ripped and swinging dangerously on the curtain rod.

“Home sweet home!” Jeonghan exclaimed with such enthusiasm it made Seungcheol grimace. “Not the best place in the world, but make yourself comfortable.”

He dropped himself down near a seat, ensuing a minor vibration of the car and stacks of mementos pouring to his laps from the seat. He arranged them gingerly back in place while Jeonghan brushed the dust off his possessions with his hands. Then he settled before Seungcheol, releasing the strap of the backpack from his shoulder.

“We’re not going to drive?” he curiously inquired.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Patience, patience.” He withdrew the folder from the backpack and flipped it open. His eyes scrutinized the files stored in it for a moment before pulling his gaze up at Seungcheol.

“Tell me what you know about your accident.”

Seungcheol gave a disapproving look. “You can read all about it in there.”

“‘Have suffered severe car accident, blunt force trauma to the head’—these are all shit. I want to know what happened during and after.”

He clicked his tongue. “Demanding, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan couldn’t help a smile. “You used to love that about me.”

 

* * *

 

“Well, it happened a year ago. I don’t remember any of it. They told me I was practicing driving and I hit a tree. My head snapped. The first thing I remembered was waking up at the hospital. I lost my memory, but they told me it was only temporary. I used to have scans so that they could see the progress, but they gave up pretty much six months afterwards and told me it was permanent.”

“You haven’t remembered anything since?”

“No.”

Jeonghan’s face fell. “Continue.”

Seungcheol inhaled. “I was at the hospital for three months and then my folks sent me to some Catholic school miles away. They told me that I was sixteen and stupid and boarding school will straighten me out. I didn’t know why I agreed to it. I barely knew them and yet I let them ship me to fucking Britain. I have—had—therapies scheduled over the term with a nun. She’s a pain in the ass. I lied all the time and I always caused trouble because well, I don’t know. It seems more fun. More exhilarating.”

A smile broke on Jeonghan’s lips. “Still the old rebel, huh?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “You obviously know me before the accident. You tell me.”

He bit the insides of his cheeks for a moment before flicking his head upwards. “Look.”

Seungcheol looked up.

The ceiling was not a plain one, just as he’d assumed. He couldn’t even see the color of it, for dozens and dozens of Polaroid pictures were taped chaotically on it, thin strings of red connecting them one by one. They were pictures of _him_ , snapped in places he had never been and with other people he had never seen—a pink-haired boy wrapping an arm around his shoulder, a man with tousled black hair and narrow eyes, a grinning blue-haired one, a skinny young man with orange locks, Junhui sticking his tongue out in several shots.

And Jeonghan.

His bright smile and long hair were present in the majority of the pictures. There were ones where they were smiling to the camera, where they were laughing midway, where they were tossing glances at each other, where their fingers were intertwined, where Seungcheol’s lips was pressed on Jeonghan’s cheek…

A lump found its way up Seungcheol’s throat.

“We were together?” he choked.

Jeonghan solemnly nodded. “We were.”

“Were we in love?”

The sentence floated in the air, and Jeonghan’s sad, teary eyes were glued on him, but Seungcheol didn’t detach his gaze from the ceiling.

“Very much,” Jeonghan whispered.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, someway, they were sprawled on the dirty floor, staring at the descending sun and the darkening sky from the corners of their eyes, Seungcheol’s arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder and Jeonghan’s cheek on Seungcheol’s chest. Traces of tears were still visible on Jeonghan’s cheeks, and he let out a strained sob. Instinctively, Seungcheol pulled him closer, brushing his lips against the crown of his head. It felt strange and perplexing and good all at once.

The minutes slowly rolled by. Seungcheol’s fingers found their way on the small of Jeonghan’s back, drawing irregular circles on it.

“Was I a good boyfriend?”

A giggle escaped Jeonghan’s lips. “You were the best. I think. You were the only boyfriend I ever had.”

“I was lucky, I guess.”

“You always said that it was so much more. That… we were meant to be together. That the strings—” he pointed a finger towards the red threads above them, “—were the ones that brought us together, that connected us.”

Seungcheol stared hard at the constellation of photos above him, as if they would be kind enough to provide him answers. It was overwhelming—to know that he ( _but not really him, not really_ ) and Jeonghan had had a history. A history he could barely recall, a history of love and passion and affection and with someone else entirely.

“It was a different man,” he concluded.

Jeonghan lifted his head to properly look at his eyes. “What?”

“It was a different man,” Seungcheol repeated, “the one who loved you. I’m a whole new person. If you’re asking me to love you—then—then I think I—”

Jeonghan’s finger was pressed to his lips, the words curling to the back of his tongue. Their eyes met and Seungcheol held his breath.

“I’m not asking you to do anything.”

He tugged his lips into a smile, but it was fading and ruined and broken.

Soon, he disentangled himself off of Seungcheol and rose from the floor, closing the door that had always been opened and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Be prepared,” Jeonghan said. “We have so many things to see.”

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol discovered that Jeonghan drove best at night. Despite the lack of sunlight to shine on the paths, the car—which Jeonghan named Magenta, after some movie character that he absolutely loved—advanced smoothly through the dense trees and up the rocky hills. A map was laid out on the dashboard, its crumpled surface smudged with red and blue streaks of markers, indicating all the routes Jeonghan had taken for the past almost-a-year.

“Where are we going?” Seungcheol had established a cozy spot on the passenger’s seat, downing a bottle of mineral water that Jeonghan had kept at the bottom of his backpack. “Is it far?”

“Brussels,” Jeonghan answered as he turned the steering wheel. “Probably about two hours more.”

Seungcheol nearly spit out. “Brussels? As in Brussels, Belgium?”

The long-haired man gave a confident nod.

“Don’t we have to cross a country border?”

“We do.”

“I’ve gathered that you’re not the one to follow the rules.”

“I am not.”

“Then how—”

“Go to sleep, Cheol,” Jeonghan chuckled. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Seungcheol snorted. “Tell me about it. Kidnapped by a creepy, mysterious stranger, only to realize he is my long lost boyfriend, dragged from a country to another, and not being fed for a whole twenty-four hours.”

Jeonghan burst into laughter. “I promise you there will be food when you wake up. I won’t let you starve to death.”

“You better,” he insisted, paused. “I trust you.”

A wide smile made its way to Jeonghan’s face, and Seungcheol was glad that at least for once, he wasn’t lying.

 

* * *

 

When Seungcheol woke up, the horizon was a mixture of orange and blue and gold, sunrays peeking shyly from rifts of clouds. Soreness was taking over his legs, which had been tucked in underneath his thighs all night long. He yawned as he rubbed the sleep off his eyes. Magenta was empty—Jeonghan must have gotten out. After chugging the water until the bottle was empty, he slid out of the car, his feet landing with a thud on the grassy ground.

“Finally you’re up!”

He raised his gaze up, way up, until his eyes found a set of another’s. The towering figure before him had a cheeky grin on his lips, tanned skin exposed due to the sleeveless shirt he was wearing, messy blue locks resting on the crown of his head. Seungcheol immediately remembered him from one of the pictures, but Jeonghan never provided him a name of any of those strangers.

“Hey there—”

A pair of strong arms enveloped themselves around him, almost lifting Seungcheol’s toes off the ground. The latter gave a small shriek of surprise, and the taller let out an amused chuckle and set him back down.

“Sorry, hyung, I just had to,” he cheerfully uttered. “I missed you! We’ve all been waiting for you!”

Seungcheol’s brows curled. “We?”

“Ah, I forgot!” He slammed a palm to his forehead. “You had that memory loss thing, huh? That’s fucked up, but hey, at least you forgot about all of my embarrassing incidents!” He thrust his hand confidently for a shake. “I’m Mingyu, hyung. You can call me Mingyu.”

Seungcheol absentmindedly rolled his eyes at the introduction, but firmly shook his hand nonetheless. “I’m Seungcheol. Hyung. I guess.”

Mingyu laughed heartily and circled his arm around the elder’s shoulders. “Walk with me, walk with me,” he told, directing them to the white house positioned at the end of the stretch of green yard they were in. As they begun to stride in an equal pace, Mingyu started, “I heard all about what Jeonghan and Junhui hyungs did. Five hours? Really? But well, you’re a different person now. At least you’re not trapped in that shithole anymore. I wish I’d been there to help you guys out—I heard all about the tracking dogs—but Jeonghan assigned me in Amsterdam, so my hands were tied, basically.”

It was a huge effort to follow Mingyu’s blast of words, but he caught enough words to form enough inquiries. “Assigned? What do you mean, assigned?”

Mingyu frowned. “I thought Jeonghan had spilled everything? I’m not surprised he didn’t, though. It’d be hard to take in, especially since you just met him and me and stuff. But yeah, since you asked—I was in Amsterdam, Soonyoung in Budapest, Jihoon in Warsaw, and I was supposed to be with Wonwoo but your paranoid boyfriend placed him in Milan instead—”

Seungcheol’s mind was practically buzzing. “M-Mingyu, slow down—”

“Is he bothering you?” A third voice erupted, causing the two’s heads to snap up. Another man from the picture, Seungcheol identified. His black hair was just as tousled as it was in one of the Polaroids, his narrow eyes screaming fatigue, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“Speak of the devil!” Mingyu called out, quickly dropping his arm from Seungcheol’s shoulders and wrapping it around the black-haired man’s waist. “Seungcheol hyung, this is—”

“Wonwoo,” the man cut off, giving a curt nod and a kind smile towards Seungcheol. “It’s nice to see you again. I came here as fast as I can. You still look the same. I thought everything was going to be different.”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, unsure of how to respond. “Um, well, it’s good to see you too.”

“Good and confusing,” Mingyu spoke his thoughts aloud for him.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes and flicked Mingyu’s forehead. “Shut the fuck up. Anyway, Jeonghan’s inside,” he informed in a softer tone to Seungcheol. “Straight in, second door to the left.”

Seungcheol shot a thankful look at him and stepped into the house, trying his best to ignore the sound of lips connecting behind his back, Mingyu’s whines silenced in an instant.

The second door led to a tiny sitting room that reeked powerfully of tomato sauce and soda. Empty Coca Cola cans were discarded on the floor, grease-stained pizza boxes were laid out on the coffee table, and the ceiling fan was spinning lazily, the breeze produced tickling strands of Jeonghan’s hair into messy curls, who was sprawled on the battered sofa bed, snoring loudly.

Gratefully grabbing a slice of pizza, Seungcheol munched through the pepperoni and paprika and made his way towards the sleeping young man. He finished the rest of the pizza in one chew, realizing that he didn’t eat anything for a whole day yesterday. He refused the idea of taking another slice and dipped his head down to Jeonghan’s forehead instead, landing a tender kiss along his hairline, catching a whiff of his silver locks.

“Good morning, baby,” Jeonghan groggily muttered, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.

Seungcheol smiled in return. He reckoned the Old Seungcheol would have loved this—seeing his boyfriend peacefully (and noisily) asleep and waking him up with a kiss. The New Seungcheol didn’t know how he felt about this.

“Your hair smells like daffodils,” he blurted out.

Jeonghan blinked in confusion, and a second later his smile grew wider and happier. “That’s the first thing you said to me.”

“What?”

“That my hair smells like daffodils!” He immediately jumped up, crossing his legs and facing himself towards Seungcheol, his eyes beaming. “When we first met, at the park, you said—”

The rest of the sentence stopped on his lips, the glimmer of hope that had spread across his face vanishing.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away. It’s stupid, really—I thought that now that you’ve met me, you’d remember things but—”

Jeonghan heaved a helpless sigh. Seungcheol felt a new weight added to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was a faint whisper.

Jeonghan shook his head fervently. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

He patted the empty spot next to him.

“Come. You must be famished.”

 

* * *

 

They filled their stomachs in silence, which was only interrupted by the noise of their chewing and slurping and occasional giggles whenever Seungcheol accidentally smeared sauce all over his chin. Jeonghan hesitantly tried to lean his head on his shoulder, but a reassuring smile found its way to Seungcheol’s lips and the long-haired man exhaled in relief, resting the side of his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder and later on the crook of his neck.

“Who are those two, the ones outside?”

“Hm? Oh. Mingyu and Wonwoo. They’re our friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you—we—been friends with them?”

“Ever since you rounded us all up together.”

Seungcheol turned his head to him. “Me?”

Jeonghan nodded confidently. “You. You knew them before I did. You knew Junhui before I did. You knew all the other guys in those pictures before I did.”

“But—they—me—how—”

Sighing, Jeonghan sat up straight and shoved the last bits of pizza to his mouth. “I guess I have to do the explaining now, huh?” he spoke through a full mouth. “Alright. We were delinquents, Cheol. Juvenile delinquents. We stole for a living, we scraped off food from garbage cans, the whole nine yards. We never had a home and we never needed one because we all could get by on our own.”

“We?” Seungcheol inquired. “Who’s we?”

Jeonghan pursed his lips and chucked a hand into the pocket of his pants, extracting a small, dark green bag tied with a golden ribbon. He was halfway untying it when Seungcheol spoke again.

“What’s that?”

“What keeps me going,” Jeonghan casually answered as he pinched the bag open and grabbed a Polaroid picture from the inside. Nine boys were imprinted there, sitting on a high brick wall with goofy smiles and round faces and robust limbs. It took him only a few seconds to identify himself: in the middle, shorter than he was now, his black hair messy and his grin wide. His fingers were curled against Jeonghan’s, who was next to him, throwing his head back in frozen laughter.

“Jisoo, Mingyu, Wonwoo, Junhui, you, me, Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Seokmin.” Jeonghan tapped each faces from left to right. “We is us, excluding you. You were rich. Still rich. Shit, you are the one of the richest in Seoul. At least your family is. I thought you were some kind of stuck-up snob like all wealthy people were when we first met, but you weren’t. You were nice and warm and everything else I didn’t expect. You took us in and befriended us despite your parents scolding you not to. You spent your free time with us and you took care of us. You listened to my worries and Seokmin’s jokes and Jihoon’s ramblings. You helped us. You loved us. You—you—”

Jeonghan choked, bringing his palm over his face to hide the descending tears. Seungcheol swatted it away and slipped his fingers through the empty spaces, squeezing it calmingly. Jeonghan’s shoulders were shaking, but he managed to compose himself shortly afterwards.

“You—you brought us together and gave us a home,” he resumed. “You were our guide, our leader. And when you got into that stupid car accident, we were so fucking worried. Your parents wouldn’t let us visit. We tried to sneak in but we couldn’t. And when you were awake, we confronted your parents. We wanted to see you. So badly. We wanted to make sure you were okay and that everything’s going to be okay and that we will be here for you like you’ve been there for us, but your fucked-up folks told us no and kicked us out and shipped you straight to Europe.

“They brainwashed you, I’d liked to say. They wouldn’t let us see you because they were worried you’d turn out to be a rebel all over again. This was a clean slate and it was their chance to make you a good, obedient little boy. I think you can’t even imagine how screwed up we were. How scared and worried we were. So, I just… I just decided to suck it up. Fuck your parents, we’re going to see you one way or another.”

Jeonghan forced himself to take a deep breath, and Seungcheol rubbed his thumb along his knuckles.

“We stole your cash. And your parents’. Lots of it. You once said you wouldn’t mind if we did because you never cared about them anyway. Junhui was good with editing and he made fake IDs for us and I booked us all separate flights to Europe. Your parents never told us which exactly in Europe you were, and we didn’t want them to suspect us going after you. That’s why I sent everyone to a different city. Investigate and such. We’re good at that.

“Months went, with many dead ends. Most of them were close to giving up but I wasn’t. I was in Dublin when Junhui contacted me and told me he got something. We’d been having lots of false alarms, so I made a rule that whenever they found something, they should tell just one person, the nearest one, so that it wouldn’t be a waste of unnecessary money and transportation. So I went to Newcastle upon Tyne and it took us a few weeks to confirm that you were there and a month to stalk the place and plan an escape route.”

Seungcheol held up his hand, abruptly stopping Jeonghan from his remembrance. His chest was clenching tightly and his lips quivered when he spoke.

“The lengths—you’d go for me—”

Instantly, Jeonghan loosened his fingers and cupped his hands on Seungcheol’s cheeks, their faces only separated by several inches.

“I know it’s overwhelming,” he whispered, tears drying on his cheeks, “and I know it’s a lot to take in. God, I’m such an idiot.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I figured since you’ve been so calm and collected about everything, you’d be prepared. But you lost your memory. It’s my bad. I should’ve known—you never like to show your doubts and concerns, anyway.” He smiled bitterly.

Seungcheol bit his lips, turning over the words repeatedly in his mind for a while before letting them escape.

“What made you fall in love with me? What made you _stay_ in love with me? How could you hang on to something so frail like hope and not be desperate? What is it?”

Jeonghan startled at the stream of questions, but a smile eventually broke on his face. “Your kindness,” he answered, his tone soft and soothing. “Your passion. Your compassion. Your strength. Your smiles. Your flaws. Your kisses. Your wisdom. Your pure heart. Your—”

He stumbled on his own words, giggling softly and gazing at Seungcheol with those beautiful brown eyes, brimming with amazement and admiration he didn’t feel like he deserved.

“Everything. Basically everything. Sure, there were times when I doubted myself, when I thought I was never going to see you again… but the hope I had wasn’t frail.”

He bit his lips in uncertainty, but he mustered enough courage to go on.

“You gave me so much. You gave me hope instead of desperation, you gave me affection instead of hatred, you gave me warmth instead of cold, you gave me faith instead of distrust, you gave me the _fucking stars_ instead of the cold hard ground—”

The tears were rushing back, fast and frenzied, and Jeonghan’s fingers urgently traveled to Seungcheol’s locks, drawing him closer and touching their foreheads together.

“—and I’d be damned not to return them.”

 

* * *

 

Mingyu turned out to be the noisiest person Seungcheol had ever met, and he thought _he_ was the noisiest person. Mingyu kept shouting and guffawing and cheering so loudly Wonwoo had to kick his shins to remind him that they were in a supposedly empty, abandoned house. The two exchanged stories of their own adventures with Seungcheol and Jeonghan, and by the time they finished telling them the former thought that he had lost the air in his lungs due to extreme laughing.

“Well, this has been fun,” Mingyu spoke through a chug of soda, “but me and Wonwoo must get going. I’ve booked a motel room in the outskirts of the city and we’re going to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jeonghan groaned. “Go away, you two.”

A gleeful smile was plastered on Mingyu’s face and he waved goodbye to them, skipping out of the house while dragging complaining Wonwoo behind him.

“Isn’t it the mission to get me out of Newcastle?” Seungcheol asked once they heard the sound of the door shutting close. “Shouldn’t the rest of them group together again or something?”

Jeonghan nodded several times. “It is, but some of us have thought of settling down in certain cities. Jisoo’s been working in a bar, Soonyoung’s crafting his very fake résumé—things like that. But don’t worry.” He flashed a mischievous smile. “We’ll see them soon.”

They spent most of the day holding each other tightly on the sofa bed, linking their legs together and kissing each other’s cheeks lazily. When Jeonghan fell asleep, Seungcheol cautiously disentangled himself and explored every corner of the dilapidated house, taking in the peeling wallpapers of the corridors and the damaged chairs in the kitchen and the stained duvet in the master bedroom. The attic was the only area he had not surveyed, and he climbed the brittle stairs, clicked the flap door open, and hoisted himself up.

Metal chests and wooden crates filled the place, half-covered by sheets of white that gathered enough dust for them to turn grey. Only a snippet of warm sunlight managed to penetrate the opaque window, but it supplied sufficient light for Seungcheol to scan the painted walls.

Streaks of red, green, yellow, and blue were pasted on all four sides, forming a gigantic mural of abstract images overlapping against each other. There were pink-lipped people and flying books and spiraling staircases and random sloshes of peach on purple as the backdrop. The floorboards creaked heavily when Seungcheol advanced forward, but he disregarded it and swept his fingers along the smooth surface of the walls, admiring their messily, beautifully decorated design.

The patch of sunlight was gradually dimming when the flap door opened. Jeonghan popped his head in, pouting his lips in such an adorable way Seungcheol couldn’t resist a chuckle.

“I thought you fled or something,” he grumbled.

“I’d never,” Seungcheol said. “What’s all these?”

Jeonghan took a long look around. The colorful sight didn’t seem strange to him. “What I wanted to show you. But you figured your way around.” He yawned. “Was there any art program in your school?”

Seungcheol raised a brow at the random question. “Yeah, but music and choir and such. No paintings like these.”

“Hellhole, that place, I tell you,” Jeonghan sighed, shaking his head in disgust. “Wait here. I’ll be back in two mins.”

Ten minutes passed, and Jeonghan returned with a blank sketchbook, a pencil hooked in its spirals, a fresh pack of cigarettes, and his purple lighter. They sat on the filthy floor, Seungcheol examining the notebook in curiosity while Jeonghan flamed up two cigarettes for both of them.

“You used to love art,” he began, a small cough coming out of his lips, “not the music stuffs, but the drawing and painting. You drew everywhere and painted at home. You often painted me and the boys too, but we hated posing for too long so you kind of gave it up. It’s been a long almost-a-year for all of us—and I think you’re ready to start again.”

And so, Jeonghan laid himself down on the floor, leaning his head on a clean crate and humming a soft, indiscernible tune amidst his poisonous drags, and Seungcheol danced the pencil on the paper and in his fingers, etching thin, black lines that shaped up a smiling Jeonghan, daffodils in his hair, nicotine on his lips, and love in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

They left Brussels shortly after Jeonghan’s wristwatch struck seven, when Seungcheol’s fingers were hurting after being curled too long around the pencil. The pages of the book were now stained with detailed sketches in hurried shadings, of run-down house rooms and burning cancer sticks and mostly Jeonghan.

“I should’ve given you that sketchbook earlier,” Jeonghan complained. “At least you didn’t lose your talent in that accident.”

The ride across the country border wasn’t so exciting—Magenta moved quickly and ferociously through winding paths and shady trees, with Jeonghan’s ever-so-often abrupt swerves and the seats rocking back and forth. When they finally reached a forest clearing somewhere near Rotterdam, Seungcheol heaved the passenger’s door open and dropped to the leafy ground, thanking the heavens he was still alive.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jeonghan remarked, another cigarette already slipped between his teeth. “You know I had to be fast to avoid the officials.”

“Can we just—oh my God—”

Seungcheol tried to gain his composure as he watched Jeonghan ransack through his plentiful possessions in the back seats, before he reappeared next to his side with a Polaroid camera, scratched on the edges but still working. Without waiting for Seungcheol’s approval, Jeonghan pushed it far from their faces and clicked the shutter.

“Hey!” Seungcheol exclaimed as the camera began to buzz subtly to print their picture. “What did you do that for?”

“For the ceiling!” Jeonghan happily cheered and withdrew the picture from its front slot. “A post-accident snapshot. This would be a first.”

When the picture had fully dried, Jeonghan thrust it to Seungcheol and he took a peek. It was rather dark due to the deficient lighting, but he could spot Jeonghan’s toothy grin and his purse of lips, a mass of green and brown leaves as the background.

“I look terrible,” he commented.

“No, you look handsome,” Jeonghan disagreed. He snatched the picture from Seungcheol’s grasp and skipped back towards Magenta, returning minutes later after taping it to the ceiling.

“Get up, get up. We have to see our second destination!”

The second destination was a flower field located on top of a steep hill. Seungcheol had cursed his way up while gripping tightly on Jeonghan’s hand, but the overpoweringly stunning sight made it all worthwhile. Jeonghan had told him to bring his sketchbook and pencil, and now Seungcheol knew why.

Wild flowers of every kind imaginable were spread amongst the spikes of grass, a bountiful of multicolored specks on a thick sheet of green blanket. They waved lazily in the nightly wind, creating soft rustlings as they brushed against each other. Seungcheol threw his gaze around; there were honeysuckles and burnt candytufts and meadowsweets and—

“Daffodils!” he shouted, pointing to a patch of the field. “Look!”

Jeonghan came over in an instant and inspected the yellow flowers before breaking into a smile. “Pretty, aren’t they? You should draw them.”

“I’m thinking of drawing everything,” Seungcheol motioned his hand to the entire field. “It’s too sad I haven’t got any coloring pencils, though.”

“I’ll get you those soon!” Jeonghan nodded fervently. “And some paint and brushes. And a canvas.”

Seungcheol squinted. “I have a feeling that by _get_ , you don’t mean _buy_.”

Jeonghan let out a chuckle. “Of course I don’t! Come on, I want to see you draw!”

They plopped themselves down amidst the ragged robins, with Jeonghan sitting behind Seungcheol to rest his chin on the latter’s shoulder, huffing incessantly from cigarettes and observing the way Seungcheol grazed the graphite expertly on the sheet of paper, who was giggling almost all the time as the rings of smoke tickled his cheeks.

Hours rolled by and at last Seungcheol finished his drawing. Jeonghan smiled in satisfaction and launched into a stream of compliments for him before positioning the camera above the paper and snapping the shutter.

“Why are you taking a picture of that?” Seungcheol groaned as he waved his hand towards the rest of the field. “You should take the picture of the prettiest view!”

Jeonghan nodded in comprehension and raised the camera once again, but turned it left at the last minute and took a picture of Seungcheol instead.

“Hey!” he frowned, extending his hands to reach for the camera, which Jeonghan immediately hid behind his back, out of reach. “I said the _prettiest_ view!”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan sang-song, and it took a moment for Seungcheol to digest the words. When he did, he rolled his eyes, inviting Jeonghan’s gleeful, melodious laugh.

 

* * *

 

The colorful sunrise welcomed him once Seungcheol opened his eyes. The air was nipping cold, and his teeth began to chatter just seconds later. He rolled down the sleeves of his sweater to his wrist and let out a yawn. He quickly noticed Jeonghan’s head tilted on his thigh, his silver locks sprawled against his khakis. The cigarette stub was hanging loosely from the corner of his lips, and his arms were hugged around the camera and the sketchbook. And he couldn’t miss the snores, blaring loudly in his ears and rather ruining and completing the picture-perfect morning simultaneously.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Seungcheol whispered, tickling the juncture of Jeonghan’s neck and shoulder with his fingertips.

A few minutes later, he shook awake and swatted Seungcheol’s hand away sleepily. “Stop that.”

“The sun’s already up. What time is it?”

“Sleep time.”

“I’m serious. Don’t we have more places to go?”

“You’re not the one who’s driving for hours, country to country.”

“I can drive. I guess. Could I?”

“You were in a car accident. Duh.”

“Still, what if it’s—”

“Shut your handsome face up.”

Seungcheol waited for a few more minutes, checking Jeonghan’s wristwatch for the time being. It read 5:32 A.M. All those months in the strict boarding school had made him an automatically early riser.

When it was 5:46, Seungcheol attempted—successfully—to wake up Jeonghan. The latter groggily rose from Seungcheol’s lap, not bothering to cover his yawning mouth as he rested his cheek on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Good morning, baby.”

Seungcheol tugged a stiff smile, but Jeonghan didn’t see it. “Good morning.”

They sat in momentary silence, it being destroyed soon by Jeonghan wringing out the bag Seungcheol had seen the previous day from his pocket. “I almost forgot,” he mumbled, slowly untying it and pulling out a Polaroid shot—the mural walls of the abandoned house. The sight of it initiated flashes of remembrance for Seungcheol, the colorful painting, Jeonghan in midst of dust—

Jeonghan tore the picture apart.

“What?” Seungcheol gasped and stared disbelievingly at the shreds of paper now falling to the ground. “Why did you—”

“Dream come true,” Jeonghan simply cut off, digging his hand into the bag and taking out another picture, this time of the flower field they were currently sitting in. He wordlessly tore it as well, gathered the left pieces of paper, and dumping it to a section of grass next to him.

“You’re ruining the environment,” Seungcheol said. “And what’s that bag? I know it keeps you going or something, but—?”

Jeonghan rubbed his palms together and shot a sleepy, gorgeous smile at him. “First of all, paper comes from trees and trees are part of nature, so I’m basically returning it to where it belongs. Second, this is my bag of dreams. It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

Seungcheol frowned at the bag. “Not really. I still don’t get it.”

“Then have a look.” Jeonghan happily tossed it at him and Seungcheol caught it just in time, carelessly dropping all its contents to the grass.

It was Jeonghan’s turn to frown. “By _have a look_ I didn’t mean—”

Seungcheol silenced him with a wave of hand and began studying the items: lots of Polaroid pictures of places he had never seen; a picture of him and Jeonghan and the other boys, this time standing in a dark, murky alley with cigarettes stuck between their teeth and smiling widely at the camera; a slogan cut out of a newspaper with the words _MAKE A CHANGE!_ emblazoned on it; another saying _SCARRED AND STITCHED BUT NOT FALLING APART_ ; and a picture of the two of them, Jeonghan gazing at the camera and Seungcheol (the Old Seungcheol, he corrected himself) gazing at him, with so much love and affection and fondness it made his fingers tremble around the picture.

“These are your dreams?” Seungcheol asked quietly.

Jeonghan nodded his head. “When all of them come true, I won’t be needing the bag anymore.”

 _When_. The word made his throat dry and his eyes teary and Seungcheol let the picture slip from his fingers.

“You used to have one too,” Jeonghan said with a yawn. “But it was empty.”

Seungcheol frowned. “Why was it empty?”

“I don’t know,” he honestly answered, shrugging his shoulders. “You never told me. I suspected that it was either because you already had your dreams achieved, or you were too hopeless and desperate to ever dream.”

 

* * *

 

Düsseldorf was next on the list, where (after another traumatizing journey across the border) they visited a pop-up art gallery that exhibited surrealism painting, which Jeonghan dubbed as his most favorite genre of painting, but Seungcheol couldn’t seem to figure out why he liked it, despite acknowledging its fascinating attractiveness. (Later did he know that the other reason Jeonghan took him there was because of free champagne—they left the city a little later than scheduled due to Jeonghan recovering from his hangover.) They made a stop at a little red brick apartment in Cologne, where Jeonghan barged in, told the landlady that he was a fan of Seokmin’s, the “handsome hot dude who used to live four floors up”, and received a thick envelope full of cash in return. They spent it on dozens of cigarette packs, two sketchbooks, and an assortment of coloring pencils. (Jeonghan had suggested for paint as well, but Seungcheol thought he wasn’t that ready.) After Jeonghan had ripped a few pictures from his bag of dreams, they parked their car at the first Burger King they saw to have a heavy dining there, interspersed by broken German and legs kicking under the table and cheesy lines thrown over.

Seungcheol demanded on having a turn to drive when Jeonghan had notably yawned for more than ten times while chewing on his Whopper. With the crease-adorned map laid out on Jeonghan’s lap and Seungcheol’s nervous, sweaty hands clutching the steering wheel, the clumsy, stuttering journey to Frankfurt started. They mercifully arrived safe and sound three hours later, when it was blissfully dark and 10:05 P.M. They paced around a remote, funky-looking cemetery, examining (and sketching, on Seungcheol’s part) strangely-shaped sculptures and angel statues made out of plastic bottles that were scattered around the place.

“Is this good?” Seungcheol hesitantly voiced out, showing the other man a simple sketch of a marble tomb before them.

Jeonghan looked over and nodded his head. “You’re getting better, honestly. Fuck, I’m dying here. Hand me a cig.”

They smoked their way around, until Seungcheol finally decided on a majestic angel statue he wanted to draw thoroughly. Jeonghan silently stirred the stub of his cigarette in his half-full soda can while Seungcheol embedded every minutia he could find of the statue and talked about it in fine, amazingly detailed strokes in spite of the lack of light.

“Do you believe in angels?” he questioned once his drawing is halfway completed.

Jeonghan shook his head firmly. “Nah. I’d been fucked by the devil too many times to believe in them.”

“They’re not so bad.” Seungcheol shrugged. “Salvation, protection—all that jazz.”

“They’re quintessential,” Jeonghan snapped. “And I don’t believe in ideal things.”

A frown fought its way to Seungcheol’s face. “I thought you believed in love.”

“Love isn’t ideal.” He raised the can to his lips and unearthed a new pack from his pocket. “It’s tough, worked up around the edges. Strength-absorbing and time-consuming. Confusing and frustrating.” He gestured to the empty space standing between them. “It’s happening. At least to me. But the hideousness of it is what makes it beautiful for almost everyone—because you’re willing to sacrifice everything and anything just for one person who’s probably shitty and fucked up and it’s so horrendously pretty it deserves pity.”

Seungcheol thought that if he’d ever been in this position before that car accident occurred, not a single blow would be able to eliminate this memory, which was seared permanently into his mind: a damaged boy sitting in the dark, smoke blowing out of his lips and tears rolling down his cheeks and fear glazed in his eyes.

He was so horrendously pretty he deserved pity.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol gradually grew more accustomed to driving, so he insisted that he will be the driver for wherever they were going next, but Jeonghan argued and they settled on shifts and that Seungcheol was not allowed to drive across any border. Jeonghan slept shotgun while Seungcheol steered Magenta to Stuttgart, using the map as his guide in the dark. He managed to find their destination a few hours after: a desolate two-story bar called Stowaway.

He kissed Jeonghan awake and they slid out of Magenta, curling their arms against each other to protect themselves from the harsh temperature of three o’clock in the morning. Seungcheol slowly realized that VW Kombis of varying colors were packing the sides of the street, and he was so close to ask knowledgeable Jeonghan about that bright pink one that resembled Junhui’s when the latter pushed the bar’s door open, exposing loud cheers and excited hoots.

“Jeonghan! Finally!”

“What took you so long?”

“I thought you guys were having a real honeymoon!”

“Hyung! _Hyung!”_

Seungcheol noticed Mingyu’s reverberating voice above the others, and it was impossible to miss his six-foot tall figure among the rest. He had a shot glass in one hand and a stick of cigarette in the other—so did Junhui (sprawled on the largest wooden table, smiling lazily at them) and Wonwoo (sitting in the seat next to Mingyu, shaking his head at his boyfriend’s noisy screams). There were four other young men that he recognized from the pictures, stationed in different seats, all shouting and raising their glass to “our beloved Seungcheol”.

“Tone it down, he’s still got the amnesia,” Jeonghan sleepily grumbled as he motioned for Seungcheol to plop himself down on an empty seat. He did, and Jeonghan wordlessly seated himself on his lap, stifling yawns only to no avail. “And what’s all this? Jisoo, what about your boss?”

“He lets me stay here,” the one seated the farthest answered, brushing his orange fringe out of his face. “It’s almost out of business, anyway. I think he’ll give this to me for free.”

“The _entire_ bar?” Mingyu gasped. “I’m up for that! Now that we found Seungcheol hyung, we’re under no more obligations, right? You can teach me how to be a bartender—”

“No more obligations?” A blonde interjected, rubbing his headband-covered temple with a fingertip. “What are you talking about? What are all these for, then?”

Seungcheol instantly saw what the blonde—Seokmin, perhaps?—was referring to: heaping piles of papers, blueprints, and a giant map were spread on a table that was far too small to contain them, causing pencils and markers to plunge noisily towards the hardwood floor.

“Oh, right,” Mingyu said sheepishly.

“Let’s go over it once again,” a pink-haired guy—Soonyoung?—insisted. “I don’t want to screw up.”

“Do we need to take the money too?” Someone with black hair questioned, and his name escaped Seungcheol’s mind. “Jeonghan, do you still have—”

“What is all this?” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, but somehow everyone managed to catch it.

Jeonghan spun his head around, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“We’re planning a heist.”

 

* * *

 

Soon, Seungcheol found himself swept into a heated discussion of how many persons should go in, how many things they should take, which route to follow, and a whole lot of things that he didn’t have the space in his mind for. Jeonghan, who had reluctantly moved to an empty seat after Junhui threw him a warning glare, whispered back his hushed questions of the people around them. He discovered that they were all the same age as him, except for Mingyu, who was a year younger. He had mixed some of the names up (“Headband: Soonyoung. Pink hair: Jihoon. Orange: Jisoo. Black and the one who gave us cash in Cologne: Seokmin.”) but luckily he memorized them quick before any hurtful misrecognition occurred. The sight of people he supposed to know hunched together around a small table was slightly disorienting and overwhelming, but he could see the bond they shared, a little worn out but will never be able to snap, and it was somehow soothing and comforting.

He couldn’t also forget that he was the one who initiated the bond in the first place.

“This will be our final stage,” Junhui told everyone in his quiet but assertive tone. “No more stealing. No more No more heisting. No more deceiving. It’s about time we live our lives legally, and with the shits we’ll get from this place, they should be able to support our lives for a few long months. We found Seungcheol, and it’s time to settle down.”

The others nodded, solemn and agreeing.

“But that doesn’t mean we’ll lose contact,” Jeonghan remarked, sitting up straighter in his seat. “We can afford enough high-tech gadgets for all of us by next week—we’ll stay in touch. We’ll regroup whenever we get the chance. We’re not going to stop being a family.”

The rest nodded more vigorously, and Seungcheol couldn’t help but to feel left out.

Jeonghan poked his elbow and smiled, widely and kindly. “That includes you.”

Jeonghan forced all of them to repeat the plan completely and thoroughly, detail by detail, although he was softer and more forgiving towards Seungcheol, which earned him empty cigarette packs in his face by the rest of the boys. They ended their intense session by noon and Jisoo cooked them breakfast for lunch. Everyone was brooding over Seungcheol, gushing about how much they missed him, insisting on sharing his “fucked up” experience in Newcastle. This resulted in a pouting Jeonghan in the corner, and when everyone finished their scrambled eggs and bacons he shooed them away, circling his arms protectively around Seungcheol’s shoulders.

“Jealous?” Seungcheol teased.

“How can I not be?” he murmured, flicking his forehead.

There was only one bad available, which was Jisoo’s on the top floor, and it was immediately occupied by Wonwoo and Mingyu. Cursing them under his breath, Jeonghan returned downstairs and instructed Jisoo to instruct everyone to back all the tables and chairs up against the walls and make room for the large, thick Polish carpet Jihoon had obtained from one of his solo robbery. They dropped themselves down in exhaustion, with the clock ticking 3:44 P.M., and Seungcheol and Jeonghan fell asleep holding hands.

 

* * *

 

For the next two days, each of them left Stuttgart and headed for Munich. They all had their departures separately to avoid any suspicions—a whole entourage of brightly colored Kombis was sure to be a memorable sight for citizens. Magenta was the last to leave, and being the jittery driver he was (and he was certain he would be even worse during a heist and with their freedom at stake), Seungcheol willingly forfeited his driving shift to Jeonghan.

They reached the designated forest clearing when nightfall came, where all cars were safely parked and locked. They will only be needing two Kombis for tonight’s agenda—Magenta and Symone, Soonyoung’s electric orange car, that turned out to be the two cleanest, most spacious cars out of the rest—so the unfortunate ones must return to get their car after the heist was done. They went over their plan once again to make sure everything was clear, before they embarked on different routes on foot towards their destination, with Jeonghan and Wonwoo remaining in the clearing, being the getaway drivers.

Seungcheol shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to replay Jeonghan’s tight hug around him just seconds before he left the clearing, and arrived at the mall exactly when the borrowed wristwatch he was wearing struck eleven thirty. The words _high-end mall_ and _lots of cash_ and _quick and quiet_ rung in his ears as he delved through the bushes that lined the parking lot, and he sprinted hard and fast towards the back of the grand structure, his chest heaving up and down.

He waited for a torturous fifteen minutes until at last Mingyu appeared, running from the opposite direction Seungcheol had come from. “Sorry,” he whispered, panting, “Saw a few cops and had to take a detour.”

Seungcheol nodded, forgiving him in an instant. “Do you think this will work?”

“We’d done this back in the old, dark days, and more frequent after we got to Europe,” Mingyu answered as he shrugged. “This is just our small, simple stealing combined into one, giant, awesome, grand heist.”

“Thanks for boosting my confidence,” he replied sarcastically. “Though really, I’m lucky to get the easiest one.”

“You’re less experienced, even pre-amnesia,” Mingyu chuckled. “You always liked a little trouble but not stealing. You wanted to set us straight and shit. Ironically, this is what we did to survive while we scouted you.”

Seungcheol winced. “The old me, huh? Well, you can steal whatever you want, just as long as I’m not involved.”

“This is our last act, hyung!” Mingyu reminded him with a poke on his shoulder. “No more stealing. I guess. I’ll try not to.”

When midnight arrived, Mingyu didn’t hesitate to barge through the back door, ensuing the alarms to go off, blaring its deafening sound through the walls. Seungcheol tailed behind him and instantly ducked as a blue-uniformed guard lunged towards him, but Mingyu blocked the attack with his arms and threw the guard against the wall. Struggling not to stay and watch in amazement, Seungcheol turned left and climbed the spiraling staircase, his fingers gripping the metal railing more tightly with each stabbing step.

“Quick and quiet,” he spoke to himself, his pace slowing down instead, “quick and quiet, quick and quiet…”

“Shut up and run!” Mingyu roared a few steps below, following him.

The landing was only inches away and Seungcheol jumped over the last three steps, almost slipping his foot in the process. He kicked the door, but it didn’t budge open.

“Shit!” he cursed, stepping aside so that Mingyu could examine the locked door. “What’s Junhui doing? He said he’ll open all the doors by now!”

“Something must’ve happened,” muttered Mingyu. “I hope there aren’t any more guards up that room. Did he disturb the CCTV signals yet? We should—”

A click interrupted his sentence, and Seungcheol experimentally pushed the door.

“It’s open!” he exclaimed, as if Mingyu weren’t by his side.

The door led the way to an intersection of hallways in a vast grocery store, its bright lights almost blinding and the shelves brimming with numerous varying items. Without a word, the two split up: Seungcheol to the right and Mingyu to the left. The former immediately recited the list he had memorized for days prior, as he unfolded a large sack from his sweater’s pocket and filling it with bottles of liquor, dozens and dozens of cigarette packs, and requested snacks for the rest of the boys.

He was huffing and puffing by the time he completed his task. The palm of his hand was sweaty against the sack and beads of perspiration were streaming down his nape as he sprinted along the aisles, spotting Mingyu over the cash register soon afterwards.

“Are you done? Let’s—”

Abrupt darkness enveloped them, and Seungcheol almost dropped the sack to the ground in surprise. He regained his composure— _it’s Junhui, it’s Junhui, this is all planned_ —and the lights turned back on as soon as they had turned off.

“That’s our cue,” Mingyu nodded his head, and both of them dashed out of the grocery store and to the still escalator, hoisting themselves up the handrail and smoothly sliding down to the ground floor. The lights continued to switch on and off while they advanced towards the side exit, and not long after Seokmin and Jisoo joined them.

Seokmin had two heavy sacks in his hands, containing jewelries and precious gems that were threatening to burst out. Several pearl necklaces were attached around his neck, bouncing and shimmering at every heave of his chest. Jisoo’s sack was thrown over his back and had money inside, just like Mingyu’s. Seokmin flashed a wide grin at the three of them, tapping the necklaces he wore.

“Dibs on these! Dibs on these!”

They were almost at the exit when the alarm roared once again. They hastily quickened their steps and unsurprisingly, fueled by fear and sheer panic, Seungcheol was the first one to reach the doors. Without wasting another moment, he held them open and shouted “Go, go, go!” as Seokmin and Jisoo rushed past and outside, where Jeonghan and Magenta were waiting.

“Where’s Mingyu?” he mumbled to himself—the adrenaline coursing through him was starting to make his head throb. “Where’s—”

A strained shriek, and Seungcheol snapped his head to the right. Mingyu’s arms were pinned against a security guard’s—and there was a throng of them. Before he could count how many they were or even register their presence, one jumped forward at him, causing both of them to drop to the marble floor. The weight was suffocating, and all Seungcheol had in his mind was _breathe breathe breathe fucking breathe_ as he kicked the guard’s legs and flipped them over, landing a full blow of his fist to his face afterwards.

Just when he gasped for oxygen, a strong force wrapped around his arms from behind, dragging him off the unconscious guard and back on the floor. Seungcheol grunted and shook his wrists before he managed to locate the person’s legs and punching them with all his might. A painful cry was heard and he could feel the legs behind him buckling, and in a split second he rose to his feet and kicked the guard in the guts, ensuing another whine. Ache was beginning to gather in his palms and legs, and he limped his way to the sack abandoned on the floor near him.

“Hyung! Hyung, you okay?”

Mingyu was suddenly standing over him, worried etched on his face. He clearly had knocked down the rest of the guards and came out unscathed, which was something impossible for Seungcheol to digest.

“The guards—you—are you hurt?”

Mingyu shook his head. “No, no, I’m—”

His words were cut off by a shout, and both of them lifted their heads up. Another crowd of guards were standing in front of them, guns locked in their fingers and pointed at them. One of them gave another German shout, which caused the two to instinctively back away.

The guards pursued them, and the two broke into a sprint towards the exit. Seungcheol gulped, tightening the grip around the sack, _fuck fuck the exit’s so far fuck we’re gonna die_ , and his eyes seemed to be fooling him because the glass doors was shining brightly.

_Shine what glow how fucking how shit_

A rev of an engine, and Magenta’s beige and red exterior emerged, busting noisily through the glass doors, its headlights glowing wildly. Mingyu’s fingers were curled around his wrist and Seungcheol was tugged to the right, plunging down atop of Mingyu as the car traversed through where they had originally stood. It viciously swerved and hit the guards, dropping them to their feet and sending the guns away from their fingers.

Seungcheol hastily got to his feet and pulled Mingyu up. It took all of his might since the younger was taller and bigger than him, and through the corner of his eyes there was Jisoo, swinging Magenta’s side door open and holding out a hand. Seungcheol hoisted Mingyu inside first, pushing the the sacks that had slid out of their fingers in the process, and then he was climbing in, hands in Jisoo’s palm and—

Bang.

_Shot I’ve been fucking shot._

Pain was rapidly spreading through him, first in his ankle then up, up to his calves and then his entire leg felt numb. He opened his mouth in surprise and his fingers slipped away from Jisoo’s, his body sagging down to the floor. He heard Jeonghan’s angry scream, and then his shoulders were rising, he was being pulled, and another bullet almost touched his toes but the door was shut close just in time, and they were speeding away, far from shot bullets and blue-clad guards and German malls—

“Is he okay? Is he okay?”

Jisoo laid him down on the draped floor, settling his head on a cushion from the hammock before joining the other two on examining Seungcheol’s ankle. He gritted his teeth as the pain only built up, as Magenta rocked brutally on the uneven roads, as hands were pressed against his open wound and Jisoo’s distant barks of instruction.

“Keep the pressure, the more the better, we have to get it out as soon as—”

He screamed once another stab of pain ran over him, and then his head was hitting the hard metal floor, and then it wasn’t.

“Keep the pressure, I said, keep the _pressure!”_ Jisoo practically shouted.

“It’s okay, hyung, it’s okay.” Out of nowhere, it was Mingyu’s voice. His palms were on the cushion, keeping it in place underneath his head. “You’ll be fine. You did great.”

 _Did I?_ he wanted to ask. _Did I? Am I safe? Is everyone safe? What about Wonwoo Soonyoung Jihoon Junhui? Where are they?_

“Seokmin,” Jeonghan croaked, and Seungcheol mustered the energy to sharpen his vision. The long-haired man was trembling in his seat, his arms moving hastily around the steering wheel. “Switch with me.”

“Are you crazy?!” Seokmin yelled, his tone dripping in horror and disbelief. “There’s no time, what if the cops are on to us, what if—”

“Just fucking _switch with me!”_ Jeonghan hysterically yelled back. “I need to be with him, I need to—”

“Just drive!” Jisoo cut off, applying more pressure to Seungcheol’s ankle that caused him to scream more. “Save us and we’ll save him!”

_Save me?_

Jeonghan’s muffled sobs pierced his heart and lulled him to oblivion.

 

* * *

 

His eyelids were heavy, but he forced himself to snap them open. Slow moments passed before he could adjust his vision. It was not entirely dark, and he could spot the pink and red and purple splashed across the sky beyond the window, the moon gradually surfacing from behind the clouds.

He was in Magenta and he was alive.

A relieved breath escaped his lips.

Jeonghan was there, hunched with his back facing him, his shoulders shaking madly. It consumed a longer time for him to gather his hearing senses, and when he did, the words came out cracked and splintered.

“… Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid, how could I, how could I…”

A whisper was ripped from his throat. “Jeonghan.”

It was enough for him to turn around, shock and delight combined in his eyes, and his lean arms didn’t waste any moment to circle themselves around Seungcheol’s neck, his silver hair curtaining their faces.

“Y-You’re alive—you’re alive—you’re here—I thought—I thought—”

He managed a small smile. “No more running, please.”

A breathless chuckle escaped Jeonghan’s lips. “No more running.”

“How are you?” he mumbled, his voice not quite returned. “How are you? How is everyone?”

“Fucking worried,” Jeonghan answered as he leaned their foreheads together, his palms pressed on the sides of his head. “You fainted but Jisoo managed to get the bullet out of your ankle and dressed the wound and all that. He said that you’re supposed to be okay. Are you okay? Are you?”

“I am,” Seungcheol weakly nodded. “Don’t worry about me.”

Jeonghan scoffed. “You know that’s never going to happen, right?”

“Right.”

Silence engulfed them, and Jeonghan landed a kiss, swift and tender, on Seungcheol’s forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Let’s let the others know,” he croaked, and he clasped Jeonghan’s hand in effort to sit up straight.

He could barely stand up, so he slithered along the floor and Jeonghan opened the side door for him. A gust of chilly air quickly hit him in the face, but his attention was torn from it when Jeonghan shouted, “He’s up! He’s up!”

The others were perched on large boulders and lengthy wooden logs on the forest clearing, but they bounced up and approached Seungcheol in a matter of seconds. Their cheerful, ecstatic voices drowned Seungcheol’s hazy thoughts, and he was swallowed in a suffocating but heartfelt group hug. Mingyu was the most excited one—he almost made unbalanced Seungcheol slam down towards the floor, but he caught him just in time.

“Sorry,” Mingyu sheepishly apologized. “I’m just so happy you’re alive!”

Jisoo then rambled on about a bullet being nestled in one’s ankle was _hardly_ fatal at all, encouraging banters and arguments from the others that made Seungcheol dizzy. Jeonghan used the opportunity to have his arms around his neck once again; the boys’ energetic response seemed to have boosted his elation all the more, no longer contained and outpouring, fierce as ever.

Seungcheol caught the twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t kiss me,” he warned.

Jeonghan shook his head and promised. “I won’t.”

He did.

 

* * *

 

Dusk retired and nightfall approached, surrounding them with brilliantly lit stars and frigid temperature. Seokmin and Junhui built a campfire from the logs they found lying around the forest floor, and everyone sat around it, huddling for warmth.

They cataloged every item they had acquired, ranging from expensive jewelries to sleek cellphones to stacks of canvases and acrylic paint for Seungcheol, courtesy of Jihoon. A cigarette pack was passed around and everybody grabbed a stick, then Soonyoung popped soda cans and showcased plastics full of marshmallows and its roasting sticks he had took, and soon everyone was dipping their marshmallows into the fire while slurping fizzling sodas.

“This sucks,” Junhui criticized, tossing his empty soda can to the ground. “Give me something stronger.”

“No drunkards tonight,” reminded Jeonghan. “This is our last night together and we have to remember it.”

Junhui rolled his eyes. “Let me use your camera then. I’m also a good drinker. I can—”

Soonyoung jabbed his stick and stuffed a marshmallow into his mouth to shut him up.

The conversation proceeded despite Junhui’s curses and glares. Seungcheol followed the ever-changing topics lazily, resting his chin on the crown of Jeonghan’s head. Jeonghan cuddled close to him, and he instantly felt warm inside and squeezed the long-haired man in his arms.

“Yo, Seokmin,” Soonyoung called, “what would you do after this night is over?”

Seokmin chewed thoughtfully on his marshmallow. “Well, get my car back in Munich,” he started. “That’s all I’ve got for now. I still haven’t decided. But hey, I’ve got these babies!” He touched the pearl necklaces that were on his neck, a hint of proudness in his voice. “I’ll think of something.”

“What about that girl you met in Prague?” Jihoon piped up. “You said she was lovely or something.”

Seokmin scrunched his nose. “Well, yeah, but I think we barely have some shared life experience to connect on more levels.”

“So, lie!” Soonyoung remarked. “You’re good at it. We’re all good at it. For example: my résumé.”

“You have a résumé?” Wonwoo asked in disbelief. “Who are you going to send it to?”

“Some banks and corporates,” answered Soonyoung as he leaned back to the boulder behind him. “I’m looking for a more sedentary lifestyle after all this wild ride.”

“I think we need to check it,” Jeonghan settled, and everybody agreed. “Pull out your résumé.”

Soonyoung was rather happy as he unfolded a crumpled note from his pocket and cleared his throat. “‘Name: Soonyoung Kwon.’ I’m working on the address, telephone, and e-mail. And the objective. I suppose I can’t say ‘to find a job with a nice office and allows me to wear sweatpants to work but still get a lot of cash’?”

“No need to have a résumé for that,” Seungcheol replied.

“True. Well, so—‘Education: None.’ I’m thinking of finding a prestigious high school and make them think I go there—Junhui, can you hack the system for me?”

Junhui scoffed. “Fuck off. I still hate you for that marshmallow.”

Soonyoung groaned. “Shit. Well, let’s skip to experience, then. ‘Assisted in helping juvenile delinquents to justice’—Seungcheol had set us straight, hadn’t he?—‘Doctor’s assistant in Seoul hospital’—this is not a lie, remember when I had to impersonate him for one of our break-ins?—‘Teacher at Budapest primary school’—not a lie, I impersonated that too before I took their fancy silver trophies—‘Production assistant at Budapest theater’—again, not a lie, because I stalked the place for weeks before I—”

Jeonghan stopped him before he read more nonsense aloud, and they switched to Jihoon, disregarding frowning Soonyoung who tucked his résumé back into his pocket. “Well, I was thinking of getting a job and going back,” said Jihoon, shrugging. “A decent one, pays a lot. I miss Seoul, honestly, though I met a couple fellows at Warsaw that I hope to visit again soon.”

Everybody supported him, but not Junhui when he briefly said, “I want to get drunk after this.” Wonwoo wanted to go to Barcelona and experience a real-life football match, and Mingyu pleaded to join him before everyone reminded that they were boyfriends.

“Of course you’ll come with me,” Wonwoo rolled his eyes and flicked Mingyu’s forehead. “But what about what you want?”

“I want Seokmin’s jewelries,” Mingyu simply answered, causing Seokmin to protectively cover the necklaces he wore with his hand, “but maybe we can go to Paris and visit a Tiffany’s for a double action.”

It was Jisoo’s turn, and he twirled his stick in his fingers as he spoke. “Well, I told my boss I’ll come back after this, and he gave a hint that he was really dropping the bar and wanted to give it to me. Maybe I’ll do a complete renovation. It’s hideous. But—um—I’ve also been thinking of converting. There’s this Catholic church nearby and—”

Everybody’s gazes were dropped to Seungcheol and he immediately covered his ears with his hands, making them burst into laughter.

“No, I’m serious!” Jisoo pressed amidst his chuckles. “We’ve been through a lot, and I really just want a clean slate. I even have a confession scheduled next week.”

“As long as you don’t rat us out,” conceded Wonwoo. “The last thing we want is to have priests chasing us around the continent.”

Then it was Seungcheol’s time to speak.

“The floor is all yours,” Soonyoung told him.

Seungcheol turned the words over and over in his mind before hesitantly giving them a voice. “I guess I just want to remember.”

Jeonghan slightly stiffened next to him, and everybody leaned closer, expectant.

“It’s kind of weird, actually,” he continued a bit louder. “It’s like I’m living someone else’s life and I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t really know you. I don’t remember you. And at times I feel like I don’t deserve to see every smile, or every pat on the back, or every hug you all gave me. But I’m grateful to have met you.” He spun his head to the side and flashed a small smile at Jeonghan. “All of you. So, thank you for accepting me despite the memory loss.”

Silence came over them, and Junhui broke it with a sincere smile and sentence.

“You’ll always be our Seungcheol, whether it’s old or new.”

Mingyu nodded earnestly. “I agree. You still emanate the old Seungcheol, but that doesn’t mean we’re not open to get to know the new you.”

“It sucks that you don’t remember us,” Seokmin joined in, “but we’re not going to stop showing you how much you mean to us.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help it—hot tears were quick in cascading down his cheeks, and he dipped his head down to hide them from view, but the others had caught a glimpse.

“Wussy,” Junhui muttered.

Soonyoung practically threw his roasting stick at him. “You’re crying too!”

Junhui groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

Fingers cupped Seungcheol’s cheeks, and his eyes met Jeonghan’s clear orbs, a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he whispered as he kissed the tears away. “It’s okay.”

Seungcheol gave a brief nod, chuckling softly once Mingyu shrieked, “We love you, Seungcheol hyung!”

“But seriously,” Jihoon interjected, all eyes focused on him, “nothing feels familiar? At all?”

Seungcheol shook his head in dismay. “No,” he truthfully answered, “but it feels like you’re all my family.”

Jeonghan’s grin was the widest ever that night.

Afterwards, he took out the bag of dreams from his pocket, pinched it open, and revealed the picture with the nine of them, smoking back in Seoul. His fingers expertly tore through it, proud smiles and happy giggles in reply.

“No longer a broken home,” he announced, and Seungcheol could feel the tears rushing out again. “We’re a whole family now.”

Seungcheol could see everyone was trying to hold back tears while Wonwoo proceeded with the original topic at hand. “What about you, Jeonghan? What would you do after this?”

The long-haired man pursed his lips as he pretended to think. Seungcheol playfully rolled his eyes and Jeonghan giggled, locking their gazes together more intensely.

“I’m just going to stick with Cheol.”

A smile tugged at Seungcheol’s lips. “And I you,” he said, dipping his head forward for a gentle kiss on Jeonghan’s lips.

The boys’ cheers were heard almost immediately, except for Junhui, who feigned barfing. Seungcheol pulled away first, but it didn’t decrease Jeonghan’s spirits as he rounded his arms around Seungcheol’s waist and leaned his cheek against his chest.

And Seungcheol felt like he was the tiniest, littlest bit in love.

 

* * *

 

Strips of midday sun entered through the glass windows, kissing him awake. The first thing he noticed was the scent of roasted-something in the air. As he pushed himself off the Kombi’s metal floor— _Magenta, old Magenta_ —the smell grew stronger and he managed to identify it as barbecued beef. Yawning, he slid along the floor, heaved the door open, and pushed his legs out of the car, only to find the most beautiful sight imaginable.

A light grey mountain rose up into the sky, its white, snowy peak half-lost in lazy clouds. It was surrounded by green treetops of forests, as if they were guarding the mountain. A clear cobalt-blue sky acted as if it were a backdrop to the magnificent scene. The air was comfortably cold and clean, free of any kinds of polluting substance; though he wasn’t sure of that when he spotted a pack of Marlboro lying neglected on the grass near his feet.

“You’re awake.”

The pack quickly slipped out of Seungcheol’s fingers, and he looked up. Jeonghan was there, flipping and smiling and yawning by a charcoal grill.

The events of the previous night began to dawn on him as he picked up the pack and plucked a cigarette out of it. He had cowered back to the car earlier than everyone else because Jeonghan wanted him to get a good night’s sleep, since he hadn’t had one for weeks. And now that he did, it was an overwhelmingly disorienting wake-up.

“Where are we?” was the first question he uttered.

“Switzerland,” Jeonghan airily answered, turning the beef with a spatula in hand. “Come, come, you have to eat.”

Seungcheol frowned and cleared his throat. “Jeonghan?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t walk, remember?”

Jeonghan stared at him funnily before remembrance was etched on his face. “Oh, right, shit, I forgot. Sorry about that. Here you go.”

He skittered quickly to Seungcheol’s side, a plastic plate in hand and his purple lighter in the other. He flamed up the cig and showed Seungcheol the plate of beef as the latter took a few drags.

“I’m no expert, and Soonyoung didn’t bother grabbing some instruction manuals, but go ahead and have a taste.”

Seungcheol experimentally bit one—it was too burnt but he was too hungry to care. They munched in silence, their eyes taking in all the view, Jeonghan’s head leaning on Seungcheol’s shoulder, cigarettes stuck between their fingers.

“Out of all the things you could pick,” Seungcheol mumbled, “you chose a charcoal grill.”

“I was aiming for Seokmin’s jewelries,” Jeonghan defended. “Heck, everyone was aiming for Seokmin’s jewelries. But he was persistent. I got you the paint and canvases, though.”

“They were meant for me, silly. No one else would’ve wanted them.”

After Jeonghan had managed to pack the grill with much difficulty, he unfolded a large sun lounger (“I shouldn’t have let you picked the things alone,” Seungcheol complained) on the grass and forced Seungcheol to recline on it before giving him a brush, a canvas, and a palette smeared with globs of color. The brush in his fingers felt awkward and numerous clumsy strokes were made, but he gradually adjusted and soon enough, a reflection of Mont Blanc were imprinted on the white canvas, grey and tall and majestic all the same.

“I told you!” Jeonghan shouted once he landed his gaze on the painting. “Not ready for paint, my ass. Talent doesn’t go anywhere, you know.”

“I won’t go anywhere, too,” Seungcheol remarked.

A smiled made its way to Jeonghan’s lips. “God, you’re catching my disease,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss on Seungcheol’s forehead. “But I’m not complaining.”

 

* * *

 

Jeonghan retired to the car shortly afterwards—he couldn’t really blame him when he had driven for eight hours straight. His loud snores were instantly heard when Seungcheol was halfway done with his second painting, and he shook his head in amusement, wondering how he could be so fortunate.

Painting proved to be harder for him to adapt to, but once he passed that stage, it was fairly easier than sketching and drawing. It didn’t take long for his fingers to move languidly across the canvas, committing every line and curve from the thrilling, wonderful memories. The paintings were spitting images of what he had in mind: multiple VW Kombis along a street, two silhouettes in a graveyard, smoking Jeonghan during a fearful ride across a border, a bonfire with seven other obscure figures.

His hands yielded to exhaustion hours later, and he dropped the last canvas—Magenta barging in through glass doors—to the ground so that it could dry. He stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles. The air was getting colder and the sky darker by the minute, so he spent the next ten minutes in immense struggle to return to the car and lie down next to snoring Jeonghan on the covered floor.

He woke up two hours later to Seungcheol’s head buried on the crook of his neck, inhaling his daffodil-scented hair. A few giggles escaped his lips and Seungcheol instantly wrapped his arms around his hips.

“You’re awake.”

“About time, I guess,” Jeonghan said through a yawn. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not enough. Sleep again, you must be tired.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Sleep. I’ll drive. It’s my turn now, remember?”

“We’re not leaving yet. How can you drive with an injured ankle?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Jeonghan clucked his tongue and slowly detached himself from the floor.

“Come on. Mont Blanc looks prettier at night.”

 

* * *

 

They leaned their backs against the cold car, puffing smokes out of their cancer sticks and staring up at the mountain towering miles before them. The sky was transforming into subtle shades of black, blue, and purple, with silver stars sprinkled all over. Jeonghan wrapped a thick duvet around them and they cuddled closer for warmth, arms touching against each other.

“The view gets you thinking, doesn’t it?” whispered Jeonghan, biting into his cigarette.

“It gets me painting,” Seungcheol replied as he picked up another blank canvas, a brush, and his palette.

Jeonghan scoffed. “Are you seriously going to paint right now? What have you been doing for the last few hours? What do I have to do to get a little attention around here?”

Seungcheol let out a hearty laugh as he dipped his brush into a paint of black. “I guess you have to try a little harder.”

Withdrawing the cigarette out of his mouth, Jeonghan nudged his side and captured his lips in a brief but passionate kiss. Seungcheol’s head was subtly throbbing when Jeonghan pulled away.

“Nice effort. I’ll let it pass.”

Jeonghan tugged a victorious smile and stuck the cig between his teeth again. “I’m always your number one.”

He chuckled at that, twirling the brush in his fingers. “But really, what are you thinking about?”

“The mountain is big.”

“That’s not a thought. That’s an observation.”

Jeonghan stayed silent for a while. “Alright. But it makes me think how small we are.”

“Compared to a mountain? Shocking.”

He earned himself a hard slap on the shoulder.

“Ouch!”

“I’m serious. Compared to a mountain, compared to everyone else in the planet, we’re just a tiny little dot that people don’t pay attention to. People don’t even know we exist.”

He sucked in a deep breath.

“It makes it harder to make a change.”

Seungcheol curled his brows in confusion, but he patiently waited for Jeonghan to continue.

“Before you found me, I was surrounded by the worst people. They told me that I wasn’t capable of doing anything just because I came from the slumps. They told me that I was worthless. It’s just… it made something click inside me. Like I want to prove them wrong. I want to prove them that I still have the worth, that I’m fully capable of things they don’t expect me to do.” He spat out the cigarette. “Albeit I still have no idea what those things are.”

Seungcheol placed his brush down and quietly plucked another cigarette for him. “You don’t have to stagger the whole world to prove how much you’re worth. You have me and the boys. We know how capable you are of things.”

Jeonghan solemnly nodded his head as he took the fresh cigarette and lit it up. “That’s true, but… I don’t know.” He inhaled nicotine and exhaled smoke. “Growing up like that… it really molds your mind. I keep thinking about what you just said, but… I just feel like a change isn’t definite enough if it doesn’t bring major impact to a major amount of people.”

Seungcheol was about to argue, but Jeonghan didn’t let him have the chance.

“Forget it. I’m so fucked up, aren’t I? Anyway, if I can’t make a change, then at least I want to have a great life. If I can’t have a great life, then…”

He sunk his teeth to his lips.

“At least I want to have a great death.”

Seungcheol stiffened before he knew it.

“You will. I’ll die right next to you.”

Jeonghan curved up a smile.

“That’s calming. At least you wouldn’t find someone else if I died first.”

“Believe me, there’s not going to be anyone else.”

A glimmer of doubt flashed in his orbs, but Jeonghan’s words shook it away. “Really?”

“Really.”

Jeonghan rested his cheek against Seungcheol’s shoulder, as the latter crafted an exact carbon copy of the mountain on his canvas. When it was finished, they didn’t move from their spots just yet. They hugged each other tightly, closing any gaps between them, cigarette-biting lips almost touching.

Seungcheol wanted to say that Jeonghan changed his life, but he figured that that wasn’t enough for him.

 

* * *

 

Jeonghan had gotten a pair of modern-looking headphones for him to wear whenever they crossed a border. “To drown out the noise,” he mentioned. But they did little in easing Seungcheol out of his worry as Magenta zigzagged through hardly noticeable paths, looping and spinning every time he thought it was all over and heaved a sigh of relief. He clenched the dashboard so hard his knuckles were whitening, and he relented to the strange urge to turn around, and his jaw dropped when he spotted his paintings hit the rocking floor from their initial spot against the wall.

The outskirts of Vaduz was dark yet welcoming, and when Magenta finally screeched to a stop Seungcheol distressfully pointed out his paintings and Jeonghan went to the rescue, making sure everything was fine and unharmed. When his heart stopped pounding furiously against his ribcage, Seungcheol dropped the headphones off and gripped Jeonghan’s hand while he slid out of the car and sat on the roots of a giant willow. It was overlooking a steady, crystal-blue stream that paved the bushy grounds. Jeonghan took a seat beside him and showed him the new stolen cellphone in his hands.

“The rest had gotten their cars out of Munich,” he informed. “Jisoo’s back in Stuttgart, Jihoon’s back in Warsaw, Seokmin’s in Prague and he’s planning to sell one of his necklaces, Soonyoung’s in Klagenfurt for some work prep course or some shit, Mingyu and Wonwoo used their fake IDs for plane tickets and are on their way to Barcelona, and I can’t contact Junhui for some reason.”

“He must be drunk or in a hangover,” Seungcheol suggested.

Jeonghan nodded in agreement. “Let’s just hope that he already got his car out.”

They took the liberty to go over through the things that Jeonghan had obtained from Salzburg. Booze (Seungcheol wanted one, but Jeonghan denied since they had only a few), more canvases, an emergency lamp, a few books, stacks of clean clothes, more paint, cash, sodas, hair ties, two sun loungers, a bountiful of diamond rings and pearl earrings, instant food, two tuxedos, and a ukulele. Seungcheol scolded Jeonghan for a good ten minutes for the last item before the latter played a few tunes and insisted that it was good for entertainment.

They spent the next hour tossing pebbles to the river, turning it into a little competition. Jeonghan quickly surrendered and instead plucked the strings of the ukulele, humming an incoherent tune while Seungcheol continued to form ripples with the stones.

“How did you find these places?” he asked in curiosity.

“Well, I had to check on the boys every now and then, but sometimes I wandered aimlessly and stumbled upon these places,” answered Jeonghan. “Which is good. I only bring you to places you would’ve loved.”

“The old me would’ve loved,” Seungcheol corrected.

“You don’t love these places?” he fearfully inquired.

“I do, but I don’t think it will ever be as much as the old one would have.”

“Just... the littlest amount of love is enough.”

The silence was disturbing, so Seungcheol talked again.

“What are the tuxedos for?”

Jeonghan seemed to snap from his trance. “Oh, those. Well, you always wanted a proper date for both of us. Fancy tuxes, candlelight dinner, all that. But we never did. So, I thought—maybe at some point—you would—”

The flicker of uncertainty on his face was adorable for Seungcheol.

“Wait here,” he gently commanded, and half-limped his way towards Magenta.

 

* * *

 

“No, no, absolutely not.”

Seungcheol let out a fit of giggles and threw the tuxedo in Jeonghan’s direction. “Come on. I’m already suited up.”

Jeonghan shook his head fervently, pursing his lips at the sight of the tuxedo Seungcheol donned on. “I shouldn’t have mentioned anything about that proper date. I shouldn’t. Oh, God, take that off. It’s embarrassing.”

“No one’s here!” Seungcheol laughed. “And don’t I look dashingly handsome?”

He could not bite back a slight grin. “Well, as a matter of fact, you do.”

“See?” he huffed exasperatedly. “Look, I’m not the only good-looking guy around. Go change!”

It didn’t take a while. Jeonghan conceded and went inside the car while Seungcheol waited near the tree. He straightened the cufflinks nervously and stretched out his right leg. His ankle strained a little painfully, but he could manage. He paced around, practicing walking, and surprisingly, each step became less and less agonizing.

Jeonghan appeared moments later, looking immensely uncomfortable and deadly handsome. He tugged on the white collar, pursing his lips. “I don’t like this.”

“You’re about to,” Seungcheol easily said, enveloping his arms around Jeonghan’s waist. “We could work on the candlelight dinner later on—I think a dance would be okay for now.”

“Okay?” repeated a chuckling Jeonghan. “It would be perfect.”

They stood there for a while, arms wrapped around each other, before Jeonghan disentangled once Seungcheol said he was thirsty.

“I’ll get us some soda.”

“Not soda,” Seungcheol groaned. “Get me the champagne at the back.”

“Bullshit. We’ll save the champagne for something special.”

“Isn’t every moment you spend with me special?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jeonghan ran back to the car and returned with two soda cans. He popped them open and they had a little toast to more adventures, then their arms found their way back around each other, their foreheads leaned together. Seungcheol felt something warm inside as he tightened his hold around Jeonghan.

“All we need is music.”

Jeonghan’s eyes twinkled. “I thought you never asked.”

Seungcheol frowned in confusion, but he finally understood when Jeonghan’s free hand reached for the ukulele propped against the willow’s roots. “No, I didn’t mean—”

“We had our own song, you know,” Jeonghan cut him off and thrust his can to Seungcheol’s hand. “Here, hold my soda. Anyway, it’s _La Vie En Rose_. It’s the only thing I master and memorize. So, you wanted a dance and some music, I’ll give you a dance and some music.”

Seungcheol shook his head despite his soda-filled hands snaking back around Jeonghan’s waist. “No, please. I can’t stand it.”

A laugh escaped Jeonghan’s lips. “Oh, you’re in for a surprise, Choi Seungcheol.”

It was a rather strange and awkward and beautiful sight: Jeonghan’s hand was holding the fret and his fingers were poised in front of the strings, while Seungcheol had his arms tight around him, their faces only inches apart. Jeonghan then began to strum the strings, an intro ringing out in their ears. Seungcheol was the one to move first—he swayed his hips a little, causing Jeonghan to laugh, but the latter eventually followed and they spun in place, before Jeonghan cleared his throat and sang, hoarse and hearty.

_“Hold me close and hold me fast,_

_The magic spell you cast,_

_This is la vie en rose…”_

Seungcheol clenched his eyes shut and touched their foreheads together yet again, holding Jeonghan close and fast. The sodas spilled to the ground as their little amateur dance increased in rhythm and passion, but the drinks were the least of their worries.

_“And when you speak,_

_Angels sing from above,_

_Everyday words seem,_

_To turn into love songs…”_

The song was on repeat on Jeonghan’s lips as his fingers continued to graze the strings, and Seungcheol quickly memorized the lyrics he sang. He gripped him closer whenever it was _Hold me close and hold me fast_ ; he connected their lips together when they reached _When you kiss me_ , and stopped seconds later so that Jeonghan could breathlessly utter _Heaven sighs_ ; he spoke countless “you’re exceptional”s, “you’re amazing”s, “you’re extraordinary”s during _And when you speak, the angels sing from above_.

“Give me my soda,” Jeonghan abruptly said mid-singing. “My throat is killing me.”

Seungcheol brought a can to his lips, letting him chug thirstily, and he sung in his place. His voice was much lower and uglier, but they didn’t care. Jeonghan joined him soon afterwards, their voices blending in, out of tune and wonderful, pausing only to trade hasty, long kisses.

“There’s a French version, you know,” Jeonghan whispered, his fingers never breaking away from the ukulele strings.

Seungcheol breathed out. “Do you memorize it?”

“Yes, but my terrible French will ruin everything.”

“I don’t care. Sing it.”

Jeonghan intensely belted out in broken, truly broken French, and Seungcheol’s guffaws caused them to tremble in each other’s embrace.

They didn’t stop. They didn’t want to stop.

“ _Ei de kuoy je laperkueys_ —is that correct— _alors je sens in muai_ —I’m sorry, Edith Piaf— _mon kuer kui bat_ —I’m crying, we’re crying—oh, God—”

They drunk slowly amidst their tears, throat burned with fizzy drink and strained voices, soda cans as champagne bottles.

They ended up popping open the real champagne.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s ankle was slowly functioning again, so he drove them most of the time. He had learned how to drive across the border (“Remember, just be quick. You’re in a racecar. Magenta is a racecar whenever she crosses the border.”) with much difficulty, but his first attempt at Liechtenstein and Austria was a success, and his second one to Italy as well. They called Wonwoo when they arrived in Trentino, and he guided them step by step on how to hide Magenta in a nearby secluded area. They resumed their journey with bus, sitting at the very back row and avoiding eye contact with anyone, until they reached Venice at last.

They took long boat rides only to sweep their fingers along the warm water and point out the cocktail of seagulls flying overhead. During one ride, Jeonghan chatted with the helmsman in the still boat while Seungcheol was at the far back, painting Bride of the Sea down to its littlest details. Ukulele never left Jeonghan’s hands nowadays, and while they explored the colorful streets with its glowing, multicolored lights, they came across a street band who taught Jeonghan how to play several Italian songs which titles he couldn’t utter clearly, though they ended up playing in front of a growing crowd who supported them with much cheer, and Seungcheol revealed that he had composed a flip book to document the entire performance.

After Venice, they came back for Magenta and Jeonghan drove them to Ljubljana, where they went to multiple art museums, free music shows, and tourist comedy clubs. They headed south to Croatia and had a ferry ride to Sušak, a sand-composed island off the mainland with the most gorgeous villages and impressive beaches. They chased each other along the white sand and Jeonghan almost drowned while swimming and Seungcheol was actually too tired to lift a brush and paint scenery, much to Jeonghan’s satisfaction.

Seungcheol could not obviously miss the interesting progress in their relationship. More hugs, more kisses, more sneaky glances, more protective arms around each other. Sometimes he didn’t know if he was happy because of all their journeys or because of Jeonghan himself. Sometimes he didn’t know if this was what the Old Seungcheol would’ve wanted, or what the New Seungcheol was wanting.

Sometimes he didn’t know anything and just went on with things.

It was easier to feel than think.

 

* * *

 

“Do you hate that I play ukulele all the time?”

“No. What makes you say that?”

“Because I keep playing the same song over and over again.”

“I don’t mind. It’s our song, anyway.”

A thankful grin was visible on Jeonghan’s face. He tickled the strings jubilantly as he brought his feet up on the dashboard. The short trip to somewhere near Budapest was undergoing, and Jeonghan had been replaying _La Vie En Rose_ for the past hour. He played and sang some more, each time less passionate than the next, and Seungcheol thought that he would grow bored of Jeonghan’s voice by now, but he didn’t.

He killed the engine when the destination was before them: a rocky cave atop a small hill, bordering on a steep cliff. They gingerly crossed the winding, uneven path and interlaced their fingers for a steady hold. The cave was larger and more spacious than it appeared, and they seated themselves amongst the narrow stalagmites, waiting for the sun to rise.

Seungcheol had his sketchbook (he had run out of paint) and Jeonghan had his cigarettes to pass the time. The concentration was engraved on the lines and crinkles of Seungcheol’s forehead, eliciting Jeonghan’s amused giggle.

“You know, this place is different than the rest.”

“Why’s that?” asked Seungcheol, not tearing his focus from the drawing at hand.

“You wanted to come here. You really did. This is not a place that I thought you would’ve loved—you loved it yourself.”

That successfully diverged Seungcheol’s attention. He lifted his head up, meeting Jeonghan’s hard gaze. “How—how did I know about this place?”

“Some of your art books,” Jeonghan answered as he brushed the dirt off his jeans. “They said that several artists come here to see the sunrise and get inspired. You wanted to come here because it was the source of a lot of great works, and you wanted to see it for yourself.

“You used to paint a corner of your white bedroom according to pictures of this sunrise. You said you never told anyone how much you wanted to come here but me. We used to make a makeshift cave from the pillows and cuddle underneath it and pretend to see the sunrise.”

Jeonghan suddenly laughed to himself, shaking his head. “It’s ridiculous. We were so young. You probably don’t even—remember—”

His voice cracked, tears swiftly coating his cheeks. Seungcheol tossed his sketchbook away and scooted closer towards Jeonghan, pulling him in a suffocating hug.

“Ssh, it’s okay, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not!” Jeonghan practically screamed as he unwound himself from Seungcheol’s arms. The sun was beginning to rise behind them, its fingers of rays ascending and clawing at the dark cave. Jeonghan’s glassy gaze was locked to it in momentary before he returned it back to Seungcheol’s face.

“Do you see that? Do you see what you’ve been _wanting_ to see? Do you remember anything? At _all?”_

The frustration and disheartenment in his voice was so evident it was surprising that Seungcheol didn’t shed a tear at all.

_Just make up something, lie, come on, you did it all the time—_

“No.”

He could never lie in front of Jeonghan.

 

* * *

 

Jeonghan grew distant.

Seungcheol expected it to happen after what had occurred in the cave, but it still came as a surprise to him. Jeonghan was quieter, no longer the twenty-four-seven nagging person he was. They still went on with their routine of going from place to place, living their nomadic life, but they didn’t sit or walk or do anything memorable together. The hugs were empty and the kisses lost their purpose. Their conversations were extremely limited. He spent more time with his cellphone, talking to Soonyoung or Junhui or Mingyu than he did with Seungcheol.

All he wanted was for it to end.

The rain was pattering loudly against the glass windows. Jeonghan had stopped driving and advised that they should stay put until the storm died down. They were almost out of Romania, but the ride would have to wait if they wanted to leave the country safe and sound.

Seungcheol had his back against the wall of the car while Jeonghan was lying on the hammock, wordlessly fumbling with a Marlboro pack. The silence was killing and deadly, and Seungcheol took a deep inhale, mustering the courage for what was to come.

“Talk to me.”

Jeonghan’s fingers halted.

“What?”

“Talk to me,” Seungcheol repeated.

“About what?”

“You know exactly about what.” He couldn’t mask the anger in his voice. “Whatever your problem is.”

Jeonghan’s head shot up. “ _My_ problem?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Yes. Look, it’s not my fault if I can’t remember—”

“Not your fault?” he shrieked, now fully sitting up on the hammock. “Fuck, Seungcheol, do you know how frustrating it is for me? Do you? I’ve been dragging you country to country, to places you would’ve loved, to places you would’ve _appreciated_ , and I keep hoping and doubting that maybe this place is the one, maybe this place will remind you—of a conversation we used to have, a similar place we used to go to, _anything_. Maybe this is the place that will make you remember. But what do I get?” He emitted a bitter chuckle. “Just nods, ‘it looks great’, a few kisses, ‘aren’t you going to tear a picture from your bag’?”

Seungcheol chewed the insides of his cheeks and stared at him. “What do you expect me to do? I don’t even understand my condition. I don’t even know if this fucking amnesia will last. You know how I’ve tried to make things easier—all the hugs and kisses—”

“All the hugs and kisses!” Jeonghan interjected sharply. “Fucking hell, Seungcheol, those don’t mean anything to you, do they? You don’t remember me. You don’t remember the times we’ve spent together. How am I supposed to know if those actions are sincere? How am I supposed to know that? Do you think this is some kind of sick joke?” He cocked his head to the side, sinking his teeth to his lips. “That I saved you from Catholic school just for your own good, maybe play with you for a while, before giving you back to Mommy and Daddy waiting in Korea?”

Anger had been silently building up inside him—Seungcheol threw a blank canvas to the floor and jumped up to his feet, slightly glad that it found a way out somehow.

“You little—”

“What?” Jeonghan challenged, getting up to his feet as well. “What? Little shit? Fuck you, Seungcheol. You don’t understand. You’ll never understand. You don’t remember all the good times and all the hard times we’ve been through. You lost the happiness and you lost the pain. But me? I’m carrying it. I’m fucking carrying all these heavy baggage everywhere I go. I can never escape. But you? You just got into a car accident, had your head banged, your memory wiped clean, and it’s a new clean slate. No pain. No memories. Ready to start anew.”

Jeonghan gritted his chattering teeth as his eyes began to gather tears. Seungcheol tried to calm himself down, to stop his hands from trembling, to murder the urge to punch something fast and hard.

“Listen, Jeonghan—”

“No, _you_ listen.” Jeonghan’s finger was touching his chest, warning and anticipating. “You wanted me to talk. Well, here it is. The boys have been asking me if you have remembered or not. I’m tired. I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of reassuring them that you will. I’m tired of calming them down from their worries and nightmares. I’m tired of being the shoulder to lean on for them. Because—because I can’t do that, okay? I’m—I’m not cut out for that.”

He was sobbing and crying and it made his heart ache, but Seungcheol didn’t raise a hand to wipe the tears.

“Truth is, no matter how big my dreams or ambitions are… I’m just a boy. I’m just a broken, damaged boy who’s in love with another, amnesiac boy. I’m not made for tough realities or stressful hardships. I’ve been in too much pain to handle and I just want the easy way out at times. I—God, I need you to remember. I need you to remember because I can’t do this by myself. I can’t be their leader or their guide because I don’t have the strength. And—and this is so fucking selfish of me.”

Jeonghan threw his head back in effort to stop the tears, only to no avail. His fingers were slowly fisting Seungcheol’s shirt, and the latter finally put his hand atop his, giving it a squeeze.

“R-Remember that night with the bonfire? Everyone—said that they will still accept you even if you don’t gain your memory back. And—I tried to bring myself to believe in that. I tried to convince myself that no matter what happens I should just be grateful that you’re here beside me despite you not remembering me. But—but I can’t.” His fingers gripped Seungcheol’s shirt tighter and he dipped his head forward again. “And I figured that the reason I couldn’t bring myself to believe that was because I didn’t love you enough. Maybe I did, but not sincerely. But—but then I realized that the reason wasn’t it. It’s because I love you more.”

Seungcheol’s breath hitched.

“I love you, more than the rest of the boys could ever love you. I love you more than anyone else could. And—this reality—you, this new Seungcheol—you don’t love me. I am not loved. This is a reality of a one-sided relationship, of unrequited love, and I hate it. I want the old Seungcheol back. I want the Seungcheol who has the nerve to kiss me in front everyone despite me telling otherwise. I want the Seungcheol who wakes up in the morning and is not surprised to see me next to him. I want the Seungcheol who is not afraid to speak out his thoughts in fear of offending me because he already knows me inside out.”

Jeonghan gulped and breathed deeply, in and out. The rain was elevating, becoming harsher outside and stroking the windows noisily in crashing droplets of water.

“I’ve always been broken. I’ve always been broken and I think I won’t ever stop. But you… you put me together, Seungcheol. You pieced me together and your love holds me together. And now you don’t. You don’t love me, and I’m breaking apart again. Piece by piece. And I’m fucking scared that I will be left and abandoned all over again.”

Seungcheol’s vision became hazy and unfocused—tears were clouding his eyes. He bit his lips to prevent a sob from escaping and clasped his fingers with Jeonghan’s, as if he could channel all the strength he had to him.

“It’s simply just selfish of me. I know you’re probably going to see me in a different way after this, because you just found out that I’m so fucking self-centered about almost everything—but I can’t stop. I can’t stop being selfish, I can’t stop being possessive, I can’t stop because you’re supposed to be mine.”

Those last words rang out in his ears, loud and clear, and Seungcheol leaned his forehead against Jeonghan’s, who was whimpering terribly by now.

“You’re supposed to be mine,” Jeonghan repeated, his voice faltering. “I just want you to be mine. All for myself.”

Seungcheol withdrew his fingers from the empty spaces between Jeonghan’s and curled them against his red, flushing cheeks. He thought Jeonghan looked best, most handsome this way: broken and open and vulnerable. It meant that he trusted him, that he trusted Seungcheol to take care of him and protect him like nobody else could.

“I may not remember the past,” he begun, the words trembling and shaking but at least they were honest, “I may not remember who you have been exactly or all the history that we shared. I may not be the old Seungcheol you’re looking for, but that doesn’t mean the new Seungcheol is someone worse.”

Jeonghan’s hopeful eyes met his, and it gave him more confidence to continue.

“You’re a person I barely know and yet you feel so familiar to me. Every day with you is literally an adventure. I get to see a new side of you that I have probably seen or not. Just because I lost my memory, that doesn’t mean I lost the capability to love. I can fall in love with you, Jeonghan. I can. And I think I am. I’m not entirely there, but I am falling for you. Those hugs and kisses aren’t meaningless. Heck, they mean so fucking much to me. _You_ mean so much to me. I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen from now, but I promise you, with everything I’ve got, that I will stick with you. I will be by your side. I won’t leave you. I’ll be your home. I’ll be anything and everything you want me to be.”

Jeonghan let out a single chuckle. “Even mine?”

Seungcheol’s lips tugged a smile. “Even yours.”

Their arms found their way around each other, just like always.

“I love you,” Jeonghan whispered.

“I don’t,” Seungcheol whispered back. “Yet.”

Jeonghan took a deep breath. His shoulders relaxed and Seungcheol could feel him melting in his embrace.

His tone was sincere and loving.

“And that’s okay.”

 

* * *

 

The days rolled by so smoothly now. Sometimes Seungcheol thought that twenty-four hours were just too short. It was as if everything was put back in place, only better.

Seungcheol was fully accustomed to traveling from place to place now. The idea of staying in one spot for more than a day was strange and alien to him. They wove through Kiev, where he had prepared a proper candlelight dinner date for Jeonghan after he demanded Jihoon to visit there and help; Minsk, where Jeonghan purchased no less than twenty bouquets of roses for him and played a complete rendition of Nat King Cole’s _L-O-V-E_ on his ukulele; and Vilnius, where they acted as legal tourists and visited every place in a travel guidebook they bought, only to throw it away and make out at the back of a museum.

And the fact that he was most joyful about was that the adventures weren’t the primary reasons to his perpetual happiness: it was Jeonghan.

Tidbits of Jeonghan he didn’t know before were gradually unfolding. The way he ran his fingers through his hair whenever he was bored, the way he pouted his pink lips, the way his lean figure felt in his arms. Seungcheol even found himself adoring every single flaw Jeonghan had: the way he snored like a madman, the way he complained about things constantly, the way he was insecure.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he murmured one evening, when the long-haired man was ripping through several pictures from his bag.

Jeonghan nodded. “Mhm. But you’re not in love with me. Yet.”

“Relax. I’m getting there.”

“Get there faster. Use a racecar if you have to.”

“I’m using a rocket and it’s about to land soon.”

The boys called frequently. Junhui was off roaming Canada, studying anything there was to study about hockey, recommending the best liquor he could find; Seokmin finally settled down in Prague, reciting his first date with the girl that came across during the bonfire as “magical”; Jihoon decided to visit Moscow, leaving his Warsaw pals behind; Soonyoung managed to get an assisting job at a Viennese law firm, though nobody knew how; Jisoo officially reopened Stowaway as his own twenty-four-hour bar and was always attending church twice a week; and Mingyu and Wonwoo were inviting both of them to Monte Carlo.

“Bring Magenta round!” Mingyu shouted from the other line. “We don’t care how long it takes—just come here! You’ll be surprised!”

Jeonghan huffed. “Look, Mingyu, we’re not—”

“Come on!” Suddenly Wonwoo took over. “Let’s have fun before anyone else leaves the continent!”

“Junhui is the only one who’s left the continent,” Seungcheol straightened out.

“Well, Russia’s also in Asia, isn’t it?” grumbled Wonwoo. “Come come come come—YES! GOAL! MINGYU, GOAL!”

Mingyu cheered loudly in the background, and Jeonghan ended the call with a roll of his eyes.

They left it at that, assuming that Mingyu and Wonwoo were just plain drunk. However, both kept calling and texting for the next few days until at last, they gave in.

 

* * *

 

The trip to Monaco lasted for three days, due to a lot of stopping to eat and rest and sleep and cuddle. When they arrived, they immediately traveled to a five-story modern apartment located at the heart of the city. It was where Wonwoo’s instructions had led them to, and Jeonghan couldn’t help a frown from forming once they descended Magenta and looked up at the towering building before them.

“They’ve been living the fancy life, huh?” he mumbled as Seungcheol pushed the door open for him.

Mingyu and Wonwoo’s apartment was on the top floor. When the automatic doors slid open, everything beyond them instantly screamed lavishness at Seungcheol. The walls and flooring were made out of white marble, covered in fluffy purple carpets, with gold-framed impressionist paintings and European memorabilia hanging on the hooks attached to the walls. The staircase was grand and glass-made, and Mingyu was sitting on the very top of the railing, sliding himself down in just seconds.

“Welcome, welcome!” he spread his arms out wide. “To home expensive home!”

“It’s sweet, too,” Seungcheol remarked, nodding his head.

“We’re just renting this, though.” Wonwoo materialized out of the kitchen. “Come on! We’ve prepared a little something.”

The kitchen table was lathered with blueprints, newspaper articles, and packs of cigarettes. Jeonghan swiftly snatched one and passed it along to Seungcheol. Mingyu provided the lighter and lit the two up with a grin.

“What’s all these?” Jeonghan asked, leaning against the counter as he examined the blueprints.

“We’re planning another heist,” Mingyu answered proudly.

“Another?” repeated Seungcheol. “But aren’t we living legally now?”

“That’s what Junhui said, and he stole some fur coat from Champs-Élysées right before he went to Vancouver,” Wonwoo informed. “And besides, this will be our last one before we’re heading for Dubai.”

Jeonghan scrunched up his nose. “I see you two are still looking for the fancy lifestyle.”

“We are!” Mingyu nodded fervently before pointing to the cashmere sweater he was donning. “Feel this. _Feel_. This is an original Coco Chanel. Do I even know who that is? No. But her name sounds fancy. We got this from an auction at a casino.”

“Who holds an auction at a casino?” Seungcheol spoke through his whiffs.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Almost everyone here, apparently. We’ve been to almost every single one in the city.”

“That’s how you afford all of these shits?” Jeonghan scoffed.

“Yes! We’ve been using those IDs almost every day now.” Mingyu plopped himself down on a spinning stool, motioning for everyone to copy his actions. “Anyway, there’s just this one casino that’s off to us. It’s not as successful as the others, but we lose there even though the cards are right. So, we want a little payback.”

“They have a safe underground,” Wonwoo explained as he nudged a finger to a blueprint lying on the middle of the table. “If you help, we’ll give you a share.”

Seungcheol thought that it had always been a yes from the start.

 

* * *

 

The plan was executed three days later, at two o’clock in the morning. The casino was seven blocks away, and Wonwoo insisted on using Magenta so that anyone wouldn’t have any suspicion. The streets were still bustling with people despite the hour, causing Seungcheol’s trouble to navigate the car.

They parked Magenta at a dingy back alley, amidst the brimming dumpsters and turbid puddles. Mingyu had pointed out that they were not in need of any getaway drivers since they had monitored the place—the casino had unsurprisingly minimum security.

They entered through a series of back doors, which were locked by a numeric code, but somehow Wonwoo managed to figure out (or already know beforehand) all the codes and the doors slid open without a hitch, themselves easing through shortly afterwards.

Each door led to a staircase which spiraled downwards. Seungcheol was at the very back of the group, muttering “Quick and quiet, quick and quiet” under his breath as he began to pant. Rushing was never his strong suit.

The last door did not open to a staircase, but instead a spacious room with blood-red velvet walls. Multiple paintings, poker chips, and timeworn packs of cards encased in glass were scattered around the room. The lighting was dim and scarce, but they could see another door on the other side, no code keypads visible.

“Are there alarms?” Jeonghan whispered.

“Not sure,” muttered Mingyu, and he experimentally threw his shoe in the middle of the room. No alarms were heard.

“Just to be safe, you two stay here,” Wonwoo commanded, looking at Seungcheol and Jeonghan. “It’s our idea, anyway. If anything happens, we’re the ones who should take responsibility.”

The four exchanged nods of head, and Mingyu and Wonwoo dashed across the room as fast as their feet could take them. They pushed the other door open without much difficulty and barged inside, quickly omitted from view.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan waited in complete silence and tension. After a few tormenting minutes, Jeonghan spoke up.

“Where are they?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “My guess is just as good as yours.”

“Well, I’m guessing they’re in trouble.”

“So am I.”

As if an unspoken agreement ensued between them, they advanced forward, into the room, their orbs focused on the door dangling ajar, and then their pace quickened, and they were zigzagging, dodging the glass cases and Seungcheol tried not to breathe so noisily—

Something hard was pressed against his back, and his feet halted almost instantly.

_Fucking shit._

A male voice touched his ears, loud and rough. He spoke in French, a language he didn’t comprehend. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he looked to his right.

Guns were pinned on his back and Jeonghan’s.

His palms began to sweat. How was this possible? Didn’t Mingyu and Wonwoo repeatedly assure them that they had everything mapped out until the very last detail? How could—

The voice separated him from his thoughts, and the barrel was pushed more against the small of his back.

Unexpectedly, Wonwoo was shoved out of the other room by a black-clad police. His eyes widened at the two of them and he said something in French, incomprehensible to Seungcheol’s ears. Someone laughed behind him and a kick was given to the back of his knees, causing them to buckle and Seungcheol to fall to the floor.

“No!” Jeonghan screamed, drowning Wonwoo’s angry, indiscernible remarks. Seungcheol was heaved up though on his knees, and his arms were lifted to the back of his head.

Cops were flooding the place, all black and violent. Guns were hugged between their fingers, pointed firmly at the three of them. _Where’s Mingyu?_ He wanted to ask. _Where the fuck is Mingyu?_

As if someone had heard his silent question, Mingyu materialized into the room, his hands already cuffed behind his back. An elderly cop had a gun pressed against his back also. “Sorry,” he mouthed to Seungcheol, his eyes sad and hopeless.

Another cop barked and cornered Mingyu, his tone demanding. Mingyu defended himself as life found its way back to his eyes. Before he knew it, the barrel’s mouth was dangerously searing to Seungcheol’s skin, and he groaned in pain. _Just a click away. Just a click away—_

“Stop them!” Jeonghan’s shriek suddenly made everything pause. “For fuck’s sake, Wonwoo, he’s hurting him!”

Everything happened so fast: all guns were turned towards Jeonghan, and the cop that had corner Mingyu switched to him instead, gun thrust onto his throat. Jeonghan let out a choke and gasped for air, and it was all Seungcheol could do not to yank the gun away.

The cop yelled and Wonwoo hissed in reply. Mingyu’s begs and pleas filled the room. Seungcheol’s heart pounded wildly in his chest.

The cop emitted a malicious chuckle and landed a slap across Jeonghan’s cheek.

That was all it took for Seungcheol to snap.

He lunged towards the cop, pinning him below and stabbing his fist on his jaw. His knuckles burned in pain, but he didn’t stop.

_No one fucking touches him no one I repeat no one_

The man was writhing underneath him, and his grunts of pain were music to Seungcheol’s ears, a pay for a sin.

_He’s mine I’m his go the fuck away go away_

Wonwoo’s alarming voice suddenly filled his senses, and out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the cop that held Wonwoo was drawing his gun out and aiming it at him.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet floated through the air.

Seungcheol clenched his eyes shut, waiting for it to pierce his skin.

It never did.

A thud; and he snapped his eyes open.

Jeonghan was sprawled in front of him, a circle of red blooming on the center of his white button-down.

A scream was ripped from his throat.

Everything around him became a blur—Wonwoo broke free, Mingyu broke free, gunshots everywhere, glass cases exploding to smithereens, the cop under him slid away, unable to breathe…

Jeonghan was the sole owner of his focus.

Seungcheol gingerly stretched his arms and pulled Jeonghan, beautiful Jeonghan into an embrace. His eyelids were sputtering, his mouth gaping open.

“J-Jeonghan, can you h-hear me?”

Hot tears clouded his vision and descended on his cheeks.

“Jeonghan? Jeonghan? F-Fucking shit, Jeonghan—”

He drew him closer, slipping his elbows underneath his back, another curled against his nape. Jeonghan’s orbs searched before they find Seungcheol’s, shock still etched on his pale face and his chest rising in slow motions.

“C-Cheol…”

“Stay with me,” he desperately croaked, because _no I can’t afford to lose Jeonghan he’s my everything I can’t I fucking can’t_. “S-Stay with me, don’t go, just stay—”

He inhaled deeply but the air just sliced his lungs.

“Hyung, we gotta go.” Mingyu was hovering above him, his tone urgent and his expression restless. “More cops are on the way. We don’t have much time.”

Seungcheol’s mind understood him, but his body didn’t. He remained on the spot, amidst the shattered glass and the broken dreams, fingers grasping Jeonghan’s shirt until blood stained his fingertips.

“But—J-Jeonghan—”

“Seungcheol, we gotta go!” Wonwoo slapped him on the shoulder and he physically forced him up from his knees. Seungcheol groaned in protest, but he managed to control his feet ( _stay, stay balanced, stay_ ) and his arms ( _don’t let him fall, hold him tight, but he’s already falling_ ) and then the three of them sprinted out of the velvet room, two hustling and one crying.

A sequence of blurry moments, and they were at the very last step of the stairs and the last landing and they were out in the open. They reached Magenta moments later, and Mingyu flung the side door open for Seungcheol while Wonwoo hurled himself in the driver’s seat. The faraway sirens made their heads pop up. Without hesitation, Seungcheol launched himself in and Mingyu rode shotgun and Wonwoo stepped on the gas, advancing Magenta out of the alley and into the packed streets.

Seungcheol laid Jeonghan down on the covered floor. The red was seeping through more, and Jeonghan coughed, and he tried his best to unbutton the white, his fingers rough and his vision troublesome, before he reached for a black tee nearby and pressed it gently against the gagging wound, eliciting a hoarse grunt from Jeonghan.

“C-Cheol… Stop…”

“No!” Seungcheol shook his head, persistent. “Y-You have to stay, stay for me, Jeonghan, just stay for me like I stayed for you—”

Jeonghan’s whitening fingers found their way atop Seungcheol, and they gently brushed his palm, and Seungcheol couldn’t help but to drop the tee and shove it away.

“What—what am I supposed to do—just stay—I—you’re not supposed to die like this—”

He sobbed and whimpered and slammed a fist on the metal floor.

“You’re supposed—to die—a great death—”

A chuckle slipped out of Jeonghan’s bruise-colored lips.

“But I am… dying a great death.”

Seungcheol moaned. He couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. His arms snaked around Jeonghan’s frail figure, swiftly, gently, lovingly, gathering the cracked bones and strained tendons and daffodils and lazy kisses and lit cigarettes and annoying snores and repetitive ukulele melodies.

And it came to him.

It came to him like a tsunami, hitting the surface so hard and swallowing everything inside. A torrent of memories, good, painful, bad, wonderful, all woven and blended into one, crushing him wave after wave and took the hurried breaths that lingered in his lungs.

Because the Jeonghan who taught him how to drive fast across the border, who determinedly brought him from place to place, who yelled and cried and broke open in a car during a rainstorm, was abruptly, gradually so much more.

He was the Jeonghan who laughed at his pathetic tween jokes, who shattered a finger when he was trying to save him from dropping down a swing, who gave him suspicious stares since they first met but slowly warmed into loving ones, who shared his dreams and hopes under a makeshift cave made out of cushions and blankets, who strummed an old ukulele for him and just him, who lit his first ever cigarette, who confessed first, who loved him first.

He remembered.

He was an easy read.

“C-Cheol…?” A glaze of confusion was evident in Jeonghan’s fading, dying eyes.

Seungcheol’s jaw hung open, but words wouldn’t come out. He closed it again, snatched the bag of dreams out of Jeonghan’s pocket, rummaged his fingers through it, and withdrew a picture of the two of them with a bloody hand and poised it in front of Jeonghan.

He ripped it apart, stray pieces of paper floating down to the ground and littering the floor.

“Dream—come true—”

A hopeful flicker across Jeonghan’s face emerged.

“Y-You got there…”

“I got there,” Seungcheol confirmed, leaning their foreheads close. “And I remember, Jeonghan. I remember everything.”

It was Jeonghan’s turn to drop his jaw, then he shook his head in disbelief, but a smile was forming on his lips. And Seungcheol had never been that happy in his life. He remembered, he had been looking forward to this day, he remembered Jeonghan, he remembered the boys, he remembered everything—

“You… little… shit… it takes… my fucking life… for you to… remember…”

His words reluctantly hauled him back to the excruciating reality, and happiness crumbled apart for pain to grow, its size doubled, tripled, he lost count.

“But I’m… glad…” Jeonghan continued, the smile never leaving his face. “I might have… not made a change… but I had… everything I needed…”

Seungcheol vigorously shook his head, and his fingers were stuck in the bag again, pulling out more pictures.

“You—you made a change—here—” He showed him the _MAKE A CHANGE!_ newspaper cutout, and he tore it apart before Jeonghan could respond anything. “You changed me. You changed me—you changed everything, Jeonghan—”

The _SCARRED AND STITCHED BUT NOT FALLING APART_ cutout was next. He lifted in and crushed it between his fingers as well, and tears were pooling in Jeonghan’s eyes.

“I—I love you—you’re never going to fall apart—I love you, Jeonghan. Do you h-hear me? I love you. I love you—more than anything else—I love you _so_ _fucking_ _much_ —”

Jeonghan’s fingers cupped his cheek, slender and vulnerable, closing the inches that divided them.

“Take my last breath,” he whispered.

Seungcheol sighed.

He could have never refused to Jeonghan.

He captured their lips together, not wasting any more second because they had wasted hours and hours.

Jeonghan’s wristwatch read 3:27 A.M.

The most wonderful, painful kiss he ever had.

 

* * *

 

He stayed there even when Jeonghan’s lips grew cold.

He stayed there even when Jeonghan’s fingers lifelessly collapsed from his cheek.

He stayed there even when the blood had already dried on his skin.

He stayed there even when his dreams burst at the seams.

 

* * *

 

The Old Seungcheol combined with the New Seungcheol.

The result was a broken one.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a certain, singular young man, seemingly in his late twenties, who always sat at the farthest corner in a bar named Stowaway.

He always sat stiffly on his chair. His arms were propped up against the table.

It had daffodils, packs of cigarettes, Polaroid snapshots, champagne in a soda can, and a ribbon-tied empty green bag sprawled on it.

At every 3:27 A.M., he cried.

Because at that time, he had found home and lost it all at once.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your thoughts in the comments *^* Feel free to check out the rest of my series for more Jeongcheol!


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